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Class __ 

Rnoi c . 

Copyright 4 1 ' 


COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 












THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 





The Prairie Shrine 


A Western Story 


BY 

ROBERT J. HORTON 

Author of “Rider o’ the Stars” 



CHELSEA HOUSE 
79 Seventh Avenue New York City 






Copyright, 1924 
By CHELSEA HOUSE 


The Prairie Shrine 



(Printed in the United States of America) 


All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign 
languages, including the Scandinavian. 

' 16 1324 i 

Dei AS08361 


*\A, A •’’w* 
v * 




To My Sister 

MARION ELIZABETH HORTON 









CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Web.11 

II. The Remnant .21 

III. The Land.29 

IV. Located.39 

Y. Another Side.50 

VI. Rumors op War.58 

VII. Developments. 69 

VIII. An Enigma .80 

IX. A New Move .89 

X. Prairie Logic. 100 

XI. The Coward .107 

XII. Three Meetings. 114 

XIII. Two Contests .122 

XIV. In the Old Town .131 

XV. Songs in the Night .142 

XVI. The Silence Is Rroken.152 

XVII. Alarms .165 



















CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XVIII. The Return.172 

XIX. Brands of Law. 184 

XX. Doubts . 191 

XXI. The Storm. 202 

XXII. A Promise. 209 

XXIII. The Test. 217 

XXIV. Progress. 225 

XXV. A New Menage. 236 

XXVI. A Man Is Proved.245 

XXVII. Into the Storm.255 

XXVIII. The Battle. 264 

XXIX. A Shift of Scene. 274 

XXX. The Show-down.285 

XXXI. The Meddler. 294 

XXXII. Revelation. 301 

XXXIII. A Score Is Settled.308 

XXXIV. Spring. 314 



















THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 

CHAPTER I 

THE WEB 

TN all that vast, far-reaching vista of open country 
there was not a head of stock, not a semblance 
of human habitation, not a moving thing visible 
to the eye except a solitary figure in the lee of a 
rise of ground above a shallow coulee, the red 
hanks of which made a vivid scar in the rolling 
green of the plain. 

Mark Neeland shifted about warily in the shelter 
of the low ridge and peered with alert eyes across 
the intervening space of prairie between the coulee 
and a line of stately cottonwoods which marked 
the course of a stream in the south. This line 
of tall cottonwoods was the only break in the un¬ 
dulating plain, except for a low-lying series of 
isolated buttes to eastward. Some forty miles in 
the west the foothills ranged up to the mountains, 
and midway this distance a faint streamer of 
smoke suggested a town. 

It was on the cottonwoods in the south that 
Neeland focused his gaze. He squinted in the dying 
sun of the late spring afternoon, and his blue eyes 
glowed speculatively. 


12 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


“Looks like it’s all straight that the Caprons 
have moved all their stock from north of the river,” 
he said aloud; “an 5 I guess they’re down in the 
Falls on business, all right. Well, this is as good 
a chance as any.” 

He walked down the coulee and out on the plain 
below. It was a fertile plain, rich in grass, nearly 
level. Neeland’s eyes sparkled as he walked over 
it. He was a portly man, and he puffed under the 
exertion. Now he began to look closely at the 
ground, measuring off distances with his eyes. 

“Ought to be just south of the coulee,” he mut¬ 
tered, frowning. He walked slowly back and forth, 
looking downward with frequent quick glances in 
the direction of the cottonwoods. 

Suddenly he gave vent to a smothered exclama¬ 
tion and kicked at a square stone with his foot. 
With another look southward he dropped on his 
knees, brushed off the stone, and looked at it 
closely. 

“That’s her, sure as shooting,” he grunted in a 
satisfied tone. “With that corner stone located, I 
can find every quarter section in here.” 

He took out a small notebook and jotted down 
some figures which he copied from inscriptions on 
the sides of the square stone. Then he rose, put 
the book away, and wiped his forehead with a large 
bandanna handkerchief. 

“More web,” he murmured with a grin. “If I 
don’t run out of land I’ll put enough in the bank 


THE WEB 13 

to buy old Capron out, hoof an’ horn, if he gets 
too mean.” 

He hurried back up the coulee and across the 
rise of ground above it. A short distance beyond 
the rise a small, battered car was standing. Nee- 
land walked down to it, cranked it with much 
puffing, took his place behind the wheel, and drove 
off westward across the plain. There was no 
road, but he proceeded unerringly, following the 
imprint of tires in the grass and soft earth, straight 
toward the thin streamer of smoke, and, after 
traveling a score of miles, came in sight of a 
little town. 

“Brant will grow like a mushroom!” Neeland 
exclaimed gleefully in a voice which carried above 
the staccato of the little motor. He looked at the 
ribbon of steel extending north and south from 
the town. 

“They’ll be coming in like sheep!” 

He glanced back nervously, shrugged his shoul¬ 
ders, sighed with something like relief, bent over 
the wheel, and sent the small car scuttling into 
town. 

Brant was in the nature of being a nondescript 
town. The weathered false fronts and drab clap¬ 
boards of the old buildings contrasted incongru¬ 
ously with the newer structures of wood and brick, 
brightly painted, and displaying ample windows. 
There was a new lumber yard, too, and the shed 
of a rival concern was being built. The depot had 


14 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


been enlarged and painted and a wide cinder plat¬ 
form installed before it. 

As might be expected, the old and the new in 
Brant did not adjoin. The old part of town was 
west of the railroad tracks, and the newer section 
was east of the tracks. This division of the town 
was symbolic of the great change which the coun¬ 
try was undergoing. 

Millions of acres which had formerly been stock 
range had been thrown open to homestead entry 
by the government. Railroads serving the North¬ 
west had carried the message of “Free Land!” to 
every nook and corner of the Middle West and far 
into the East. The lure had proved sufficient to 
start thousands on their way to Montana to file on 
quarter sections. 

The cattle barons had seen the handwriting on 
the wall and had either sold their herds or moved 
them southward across the Missouri to a last stand 
in the wind-swept ranges of the Musselshell. The 
sheepmen were dying harder. There still were 
several large sheep outfits operating, and some of 
them had leased thousands of acres of State school 
sections in an effort to hold on. 

Lawton Capron was one of those who refused to 
budge before the influx of the potential dry-land 
farmers. He owned thousands of acres along the 
Teton River, north of the Missouri, and ran both 
cattle and sheep. 

“It’ll go hard with them that tries to string a 


THE WEB 


15 


fence along my range,” he had said grimly, when 
the vanguard of the homesteaders made its appear- 
ance in Brant. 

Meanwhile, those that filed had six months’ grace 
in which to take up actual residence on their 
claims. Most of them had filed and gone away, 
intending to return at the end of the six months. 
Not a few of them were taking up the land as a 
speculation with a view to improving it as little as 
possible, paying a dollar and a quarter an acre 
at the end of fourteen months, and taking title. 
They expected land worth five dollars an acre for 
grazing to be valued at thirty to fifty dollars an 
acre as farming land when deeded. Perhaps twenty- 
five per cent of those filing, actually intended to 
till the soil to make a real farm home and live there. 

The newcomers were unfamiliar with the land. 
They did not know what had been taken up and 
what was left open to entry. Most of them could 
not find a given quarter section, for open prairie 
and government plats were different propositions. 
Many of them could not understand the markings 
on the stones at section corners even when they 
found them! Consequently they had to depend 
upon professional locators such as Mark Neeland, 
who charged what they could get as fees for locat¬ 
ing homeseekers on quarter sections. The filing 
was done at the land office in Great Falls. 

The long twilight of the semialtitudes was 
spreading over the land when Neeland stopped his 


16 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


car before the New West billiard and refreshment 
parlor in the newer section of town. 

“How’s the web?” called a tall, angular individual 
with blond hair and sallow cheeks as the locator 
entered. 

Neeland grinned and looked about with blinking 
eyes before answering: “There’s plenty of web 
left to catch more flies,” he said in a thin voice 
which was out of keeping with his bulk. “You 
call the land the web an’ the homesteaders the 
flies, Andy; now what do you call me behind my 
back, I wonder?” 

The tall man’s blue eyes took on a dreamy luster. 
He recited: “Where there’s a web and flies, sir, 
there’s likely to be a spi-der.” 

“Ha!” chirped Neeland. “That ain’t as good a 
rhyme as usual for the ‘Prairie Poet,’ Andy Saw- 
telle. An’ in this case there’s got to be spiders, 
or how would these poor devils get located on nice, 
choice bits of land?” 

“Choice bits!” exclaimed Sawtelle. “I’d like to 
have you picking me out a choice bit. Why, you 
haven’t been in this country only three years, and 
I was the same as born here!” 

“I got a line on some choice bits to-day, just 
the same,” said Neeland, edging up to the bar and 
nodding to the bartender to serve them with drinks. 

Sawtelle lifted his thin brows and spread his an¬ 
gular arms on the bar. “I suppose I’ll have to 


THE WEB 17 

listen as payment for this drink,” he said, pouring 
out some of the liquor. 

“Oh, I know you think this country can’t be 
farmed,” said Neeland with a scowl. “Maybe 
you’re right, although you’ve got the prejudiced 
view of the old-timer. But there’s parts that’s got 
a better show than others, an’ one of those places 
is north of the Capron place on the Teton.” 

Sawtelle put down his glass with a bang. “You 
been out there?” 

Neeland nodded as he drained his potion. “This 
afternoon. Got a line on the corners. I’m the 
first that’s dared to go out there after all the threats 
old Capron’s been making. But he can’t get away 
with it. This thing’s too big. An’ the govern¬ 
ment’s behind it. The old fool ought to know it 
had to come.” 

Sawtelle hummed softly, looking at the locator. 
“Fools ride in where angels fear to tread; the 
which is why so many fools are dead,” he said 
with amusement in his eyes. 

Neeland bristled. “He don’t own that land,” he 
said hotly. “I’m going to locate folks on every 
quarter section out there!” 

“You mean you are if Capron and his foreman, 
Jake Gruger, stay down in the Falls long enough,” 
said the poet dryly. “The government in Wash¬ 
ington is one thing, and Jake Gruger on the ground 
with his six-gun is another. You must think your 
hide is bullet proof, Neeland.” 


18 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


“They won’t be coming on the land to live for 
six months anyway,” said the locator nervously, 
“an’ by that time-” 

“You’ll be gone with your wad, eh?” Sawtelle 
broke in with a hollow laugh. “I thought sheep 
was bad, Neeland; but this web and the flies and 
the—spiders!” 

The poet shook his head thoughtfully as Nee¬ 
land hurriedly ordered another drink. 

“You’re a dreamer!” snapped Neeland. “A 
dreamer an’ a would-be songster. You ain’t prac¬ 
tical !” 

“But I know what I can see with my own eyes,” 
Sawtelle retorted wistfully. “It isn’t going to be 
easily done—this thing. You can’t change a big 
country like this overnight. This is my third drink 
this evening, Mark Neeland. I warn you not to 
coax me too far into my likker this early, or I’m 
liable to sing about you and your new section of 
web, and some friend of the Caprons might think 
there was more of a point to my rhyming than 
you suspect.” 

Neeland held up a hand. “I won’t coax you,” 
he promised. 

“Seven forty-two is whistling,” announced the 
bartender. 

Most of the men in the place, including Saw¬ 
telle and Neeland, moved quickly out the door. 
Already, in the little street, there was a procession 
bound for the depot. In the north the half light 



THE WEB 


19 


was streaked with smoke. By the time the train 
whistled for the stop at Brant, the cinder platform 
was jammed. 

“She whistles and toots and brings ’em in—the 
flies to the spiders’ web so thin,” mused Sawtelle. 

“Shut up!” Neeland barked in his ear. 

The train came to a stop with a grinding of 
brakes. 

“All out for Brant!” the brakeman was shouting. 

“Free bus to the Thompson House,” came the 
call of the hotel runner as the train began to dis¬ 
gorge passengers. 

Neeland busied himself passing out cards. 
“Homesteads located,” he cried shrilly. “Relinquish- 
ments cheap. Best quarter sections-” 

He paused as he saw a woman and a girl alight¬ 
ing. The girl was carrying her hat in her hand 
with other baggage. The station lights gleaming 
on her hair turned it to burnished gold. Her face 
was flushed, her gray eyes were sparkling. As 
she stepped from the box below the coach steps, 
she took the arm of the older woman who appeared 
tired and worn. 

“Mother, dear, we’re here,” she said in a vibrant 
voice, sweetly reassuring. “Can’t you just taste 
the air?” 

“Room for all at the Thompson House,” shrilled 
the hotel runner. “Free bus, an’ baggage carried.” 

Neeland recovered his senses and pushed for- 


20 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


ward, reaching for the two suit cases the brake- 
man had deposited on the platform. 

But he was brushed aside by another. 

“I’ll help you, ma’am—flowers are rare in the 
prairie country.” 

It was Sawtelle’s voice, and the poet gathered up 
the luggage, nodded to the girl and her companion 
to accompany him, and made a path for them to 
the hotel bus. 

“Thank you so much,” said the girl. 

“And ample payment, ma’am,” said the poet gal¬ 
lantly. 

“My card,” offered Neeland, reaching over Saw¬ 
telle’s shoulder and handing the girl one of his 
pasteboards. 

“Likewise his challenge!” mocked the poet. 

The girl looked puzzled. Then she laughed and 
turned her attention to the older woman. 

“You see the West isn’t so uncouth, mother,” 
she said cheerfully. The rest of her speech was 
drowned in the clang of the engine bell and the 
noisy turmoil on the station platform as the train 
moved away. 

The bus driver cracked his whip, and the un¬ 
wieldy vehicle rattled over the track toward the 
hotel. 


CHAPTER II 


THE REMNANT 

T HE girl wrote their names in fine Spencerian 
on the register while the clerk beamed his 
admiration and hurriedly clutched at his red 
necktie. 

Mrs. J. C. Bronson, Coltersport, Pennsylvania. 

Annalee Bronson, Coltersport, Pennsylvania. 

“Have you something with a bath?” she inquired 
with a twinkle in her eyes. 

The clerk came as near blushing as possible 
through his tan. “We ain’t got quite that far yet, 
ma’am,” he apologized. “This town’s just started, 
you might say. But there’s a good bath on the 
second floor, an 5 I’ll give you a nice outside room 
close to it.” 

“That’s all right,” replied the girl. “I didn’t 
expect room with private bath here—yet, as you 
say. Some time maybe we’ll have them, don’t 
you think?” 

“Why—er—sure, of course. Are you goin’ to 
live here, ma’am?” 

“We expect to make our home here—mother and 
I. That’s what we came West for. I suppose 
there’s some land left?” 

“Oh, plenty. Yes, ma’am, there’s land enough 
left for everybody, I guess. Ah—Lem, oh, Lem!’* 


22 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


The clerk glared at a sleepy individual in over¬ 
alls who slouched up to the desk at his call. 

“Take these ladies’ baggage an’ things up to 
twenty-six an’ be right smart about it. An’ see 
that they have some ice water an’ anything else 
they want.” 

Then, turning to the Bronsons, he said: “I’ll 
see that some bath towels is sent up there right 
away. There’s only one lamp in your room, but 
I’ll have another sent up so you’ll have plenty of 
light. If there’s anything else you want, just send 
down for it—that’s what we’re here for.” 

The porter in overalls slouched toward the stair¬ 
way with the luggage. 

“Where do we eat?” asked the girl, smiling. 

“Right in the dining room, miss. There’s the 
door in the back there. This other big door leads 
into the bar, so don’t make a mistake.” 

The clerk laughed at his own joke and Annalee 
Bronson joined him. Mrs. Bronson looked worried 
and hurried after the porter. The girl joined her, 
and they went up the stairs. 

“Redheaded!” said the clerk, looking after the 
girl in undisguised admiration. 

“Which is an indication of the extent of your 
knowledge and education,” said Sawtelle, who came 
up and leaned on the desk. “The hair you mention, 
my dear man, is not red, but auburn. 

“The glow of the sunset’s in her hair, 

The blush of the rose in her cheeks so fair.” 


THE REMNANT 


23 


“Wonder you wouldn’t get a steady job, you know 
so much,” advised the clerk. 

“I have a steady job,” replied the poet absently. 

“So? Since when?” 

“Ever since I can remember,” sighed Sawtelle. 
“Trying to sell some verse.” 

“Of course,” said the clerk. “An’ you could 
make money at it at that if you’d stick to those 
barroom poems the hoys understand. You’re tryin’ 
to make rhymes over your own head an’ everybody 
else’s!” 

“Maybe you are right,” said Sawtelle dreamily; 
“hut that’s got nothing to do with the color of 
Miss Bronson’s hair.” 

“She’s some looker,” mused the clerk. “Acts 
like she had spunk, too. Them girls with that sort 
of hair ain’t ordinarily timid. Going to live here.” 

“Homestead?” asked Sawtelle. 

The clerk nodded. 

“Then she’s one thing we can thank the govern¬ 
ment and the Great Northern railroad for,” said 
the poet. “They baited her and brought her here. 
Man, she matches our skies!” 

“Say,” said the clerk, lowering his voice, “there’s 
somebody else in town.” 

A burst of hilarity drifted in from the big bar¬ 
room. 

Sawtelle scowled. “That bunch in there is get¬ 
ting wild. Wonder they wouldn’t stay over in the 
old town where such stuff goes wide, free, and 


24 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


handsome. It’ll make a bad impression over here 
with guests like the Bronsons coming in.” 

“The boss figures their money’s as good as any¬ 
body’s,” said the clerk. “They’re spending; you’ve 
got to hand it to ’em for that. It’s that bright, new 
bar with its big lookin’ glass that brings ’em. 
You didn’t ask me who was in town, Andy?” 

“Why should I? I’ve only got to listen, and 
you’ll tell me sooner or later.” 

“Well, then, it’s ‘Silent’ Fred Scott,” whispered 
the clerk. 

Sawtelle slowly faced about, looking keenly at 
the man behind the desk. “You’re sure , I take it?” 

“Saw him myself,” declared the other. “Caught 
a glimpse of him goin’ into the Green Front over in 
the old town this afternoon. He’s here, all right.” 

“Now, I wonder,” Sawtelle pondered. “What 
can Silent be hanging around here for?” 

The clerk shrugged. “He’s been here before,” he 
observed. “This used to be a hangout of his once. 
Shot a man here, I believe. These are tricky days 
for a man that’s greased lightnin’ with his gun.” 

“Silent never went looking for trouble,” said 
Sawtelle. 

“But trouble usually foilers him like a coyote’ll 
track a lame deer. He might as well pack a chip 
on his shoulder even if he doesn’t.” 

“Oh, I don’t look for any trouble here,” said 
Sawtelle. “The boys have learned to lay off Silent. 
This bunch around here has been tamed somewhat.” 


THE REMNANT 25 

“There’s one left down the river that ain’t been 
tamed none,” the clerk hinted. 

“An’ he’s in the Falls,” said Sawtelle, frowning. 
“Anyway, Gruger’s got too much sense to deliber¬ 
ately stir up anything. He hasn’t much to gain any 
more —that way. And I notice he’s steered clear of 
this Scott gent so far.” 

Another great burst of hilarity, mingled shouts 
and song, came from the bar as Sawtelle looked up 
to see Annalee Bronson and her mother coming down 
the stairway. 

The girl saw him. She smiled and nodded. 

The poet’s hat nearly swept the floor as he stepped 
to the bottom of the stairs. 

The girl appeared strangely beautiful in the light 
of the lamps hung in the little lobby. She was of 
medium height, not slender, nor stout, with a trim 
figure molded on perfect curves. She looked healthy 
and happy—and excited. 

Her mother’s face was gray and drawn. The 
eyes looked tired and a bit frightened. Her hair 
was nearly white. But she carried herself with a 
bearing which indicated gentle birth and breeding 
—a quiet dignity which bordered closely upon the 
aristocratic. 

“If I can be of service at any time, please ask 
for Andy Sawtelle,” the poet was saying. 

“You make me think of a cavalier, Mr. Sawtelle,” 
replied the girl. “I’m Annalee Bronson, and this is 
my mother.” 


26 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


Mrs. Bronson held out a white hand which Saw- 
telle took with hesitation, held a moment, and bowed 
again. 

“We’re going in to eat,” said the girl. “I’m 
starved.” 

“Right through those double doors,” Sawtelle 
pointed and walked with them toward the dining 
room. 

Opposite the door leading into the barroom the girl 
paused, struck by the animated scene within. Men 
in khaki and chaps, overalls and riding breeches, 
hoots and spurs, caps and great, wide-brimmed 
hats with scarfs variously attired about their necks, 
were crowding at the bar. Glasses sparkled in 
the light from the hanging lamps. Smoke drifted 
like a thin, blue veil above the heads of the patrons. 
Above the clinking of glasses, the jingle of spurs, 
the talk, the gruff laughter, the rattle of chips at 
the poker table, a player piano tinkled bravely. 

The girl’s eyes were wide, and she stared with 
startled interest. 

Then, as if at the wave of some supreme ma¬ 
gician’s wand, the talk at the bar—was suddenly 
stilled. 

The girl saw a tall, blond, boyish-looking man 
walking slowly from the outer entrance. His 
big, gray hat was pinched in at its high crown. 
A tobacco tag hung from the breast pocket of his 
dark, soft shirt. A blue scarf was knotted low 
under his shirt collar, open at the throat. His 


THE REMNANT 


27 


trousers were stuffed into the tops of black riding 
boots which glistened with their brilliant polish. 
About his waist was a cartridge belt, and tied to 
his right thigh was a worn, black leather holster 
from which protruded the black butt of a gun. 

All this the girl saw in a hurried, curious glance. 
Then he looked straight into her eyes. Something 
in the clear quality of his gaze held her breathless 
and wondering. Yet she noted his clean-cut fea¬ 
tures, the high, arching brows, the blond hair, 
wavy where his hat was pushed back, the tan on 
his face and neck, the straight mouth which seemed 
on the point of smiling. 

He looked away and stepped up to the bar, 
the crowd silently making way for him. 

She saw him say something to the man in the 
white apron in a low voice; saw the man hurry 
to carry out his orders; saw the surreptitious 
glances directed at the newcomer; saw him look 
calmly up and down the length of the bar coolly 
and a bit disdainfully. 

“Let us go, Annalee,” Mrs. Bronson was saying 
when the girl again came to herself. 

“Who—who was that?” the girl asked Sawtelle. 

“That is Silent Fred Scott.” 

“But why did they all stop their noise so quickly?” 
the girl insisted. “Oh—he wore a pistol! I see. 
He is an officer?” 

“On the contrary, he is just the opposite,” said 
the poet dryly, as they paused at the dining-room 


28 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


entrance. “They stopped their chatter because they 
are afraid of him. Maybe they was scared their 
small talk might annoy him. Silent takes his drinks 
and conversation separate.” 

“Oh,” said the girl, still mystified. 

Sawtelle bowed, not ungracefully, as the women 
went on in to dinner. 


CHAPTER III 


THE LAND 

TOURING the meal Annalee thought much. She 
^ was amused at the quaint character Andy 
Sawtelle presented. He was indubitably of the 
country, and yet, in some inexplicable way, he 
did not seem to belong in the hectic setting of the 
boom prairie town. There was a subtlety to his 
speech, too, that intrigued her interest; he gave 
her the impression of being a happy-go-lucky nature 
who knew much. He seemed to pity as well as 
admire her. There was no question but that his 
desire to be of assistance to them was honestly and 
gallantly sincere. 

Rut the girl could not help remembering the 
eyes of the man Sawtelle had said was Silent Fred 
Scott. She found herself breathing more rapidly 
as she recalled the quality of his look—surprise, 
swift interest, and quick appraisal were in his 
gaze. It was as if he read her very mind, read 
her through and through, in the instant that their 
eyes met. She wondered what he thought of her 
and instantly chided herself for her feeling of in¬ 
terest in him. 

And yet—she could not convince herself that there 
was not a logical, excusable reason for this interest. 


30 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


The man was a genuine outdoor type; a perfectly 
molded figure set off the clean-cut, tanned features; 
he was picturesque but not obtrusive in his manner 
of dress. She decided, too, that his eyes were 
good eyes—and hastily concentrated her attention 
on her meal. 

“I’m inclined to believe we’ll meet some new 
types of men in this country, mother,” she said. 

“Anna, have you noticed the tablecloth?” her 
mother asked. 

The girl nodded. “It isn’t very clean, but I 
suppose they’ve fed a lot of people to-night. And 
we must excuse a great many things in this new 
country, mother. Anyway, we can have a clean 
cloth on our own table.” 

“I wonder if the things have come by freight 
all right,” said Mrs. Rronson in a worried voice. 

“They must have, mother. It is almost a month 
since we sent them. Of course they are here. 
Mother, darling, you promised me not to worry 
when we came out here. Just leave everything 
to me. It is going to be a great lark. And you 
see how nice everybody is? Did you notice how 
that Mr. Sawtelle was quick to help us, and how the 
clerk here in the hotel couldn’t do enough for 
us? That is the hospitality of the West, mumsy; 
we will find they are wonderful people out here 
even if they are a little rough.” 

Mrs. Bronson smiled wanly at her daughter. 
“You always were an impetuous girl, Anna,” she 


THE LAND 


31 


said with a weak gesture of resignation. “You 
got your wonderful hair from your father, and 
much of his temperament along with it. I don’t 
see how this settling on raw land ever can be 
anything like a lark.” 

“But, mother, we will soon have a little house, 
and it’s spring, and we can have flowers and a 
garden, and think—we are getting a farm for 
nothing! A big farm of level land! It won’t be 
like the steep, rocky hillsides in our part of 
Pennsylvania where about all they can grow is 
buckwheat. You know what the man who sold 
us our tickets said, mumsy: ‘Every year a harvest 
of gold.’ The wheat will make us rich, mumsy.” 

“If it gets us a respectable living I shall be 
satisfied,” said Mrs. Bronson, cheered by her daugh¬ 
ter’s enthusiastic speech. “That, and my health, 
and seeing you provided for, is all I want.” She 
smiled at the girl. 

Mark Neeland was waiting for them when they 
came out of the dining room. He doffed his hat 
and immediately plunged into the business which 
brought him there. 

“The clerk tells me you are intending to settle 
here, Mrs. Bronson,” he said affably, his small 
eyes shining. 

The older woman gestured toward her daughter. 

“That’s what we came here for,” said the girl 
cheerfully. She had looked into the barroom— 
which again was in a turmoil—without catching 


32 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


a glimpse of Silent Scott. “I believe I left your 
card in our room Mr.—Mr.-” 

“Neeland,” the locator supplied. “I can put you 
next to the best homestead land around here, Miss 
Bronson. There’s still some good land left, but 
everybody doesn’t know where it’s at,” he added 
with a significant lift of his thin brows. 

“Why, I thought all the land was good,” said 
the girl in surprise. 

Neeland shrugged. “You would want the best,” 
he countered. “Some’s better than others. And 
a lot of the best has been taken up. But I can 
locate you—won’t you sit down and talk it over, 
Miss Bronson? I’m sure you will want my ser¬ 
vices when you understand the—er—conditions.” 

“Let us go upstairs to that little front parlor I 
saw,” said the girl. “I suppose we might as 
well find out about things now, mother?” 

“You attend to it, daughter,” said Mrs. Bronson; 
“and I’ll go to the room and rest. The long ride 
on the train was very tiresome. And you are 
more familiar with what we—or you—want to do.” 

In the little front parlor, Neeland spread a plat 
out on the table under the shaded oil lamp and 
placed a thick forefinger on a square of the print. 

“That’s where you want to locate, Miss Bronson,” 
he remarked with a note of superior knowledge 
in his tone. 

“But isn’t that rather far from town?” asked 
the girl. 



THE LAND 


33 


“Only about twenty-two miles. That isn’t far 
in this level country, ma’am. You see it’s easy 
to make roads in the prairie—they make them¬ 
selves, you might say. And there are no hills or 
tough hauls. Twenty-two miles out here is about 
the same as eight or ten miles back where you 
came from. Besides, there’s no real good land 
left close in—unless you want to buy a relinquish¬ 
ment.” 

“And what is that, Mr. Neeland?” 

“A relinquishment is a homestead that some¬ 
body’s filed on and changed his mind and is ready 
to let it go for a consideration,” explained the lo¬ 
cator. “I could get you two nice relinquishments 
for about five hundred dollars apiece, Miss Bronson.” 

“But, I don’t understand,” said the girl, wink¬ 
ing her brows in perplexity. “Why should they 
want to file on a homestead and let it go right 
away? Didn’t they come here to find homes? Or 
can they let it go and file on another piece? I 
thought this land was all free.” 

“Oh, it’s all free, Miss Bronson,” said Neeland 
suavely. “You see you have six months after filing 
before you have to start living on your land. Some 
of these people have filed and then have found out 
that they can’t go through with their plans. And 
some of them—well, it’s a speculation with some. 
Miss Bronson. This land will all be worth big 
money when it’s needed. No, they can’t relinquish 
and then file on another piece—not without a lot 


34 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


of red tape, even if they can make it stick. When 
you’ve used your right, you’ve used your right, 
that’s all. That’s why these people want to he 
paid for relinquishing.” 

“Is this a relinquishment you have pointed out 
on the map?” the girl asked. 

Neeland hesitated. There had been cases where 
unsuspecting land seekers had been sold locations 
as relinquishments at a big advance over the usual 
location fee and had never known the difference. 
He noted, however, the intelligent bearing and look 
of his fair prospect. 

“No,” he said at length; “no, I’m showing you 
on the plat land that is still open to entry. It’s 
the best land left around here, miss. In fact, 
there’s none better. It has springs on it that are 
wet until way into the summer, and water’s close 
there for a well. It lies in a good place north 
of the river and will be right in line for the first 
ditches of the irrigation project that’s planned 
for this district. I’m showing you the best, Miss 
Bronson.” 

“This is very kind of you, Mr. Neeland,” said 
the girl, who was visibly impressed. “I suppose 
you are connected with the government in some 
capacity. You should know.” 

Neeland smiled wryly. “No, I’m not connected 
with the government, Miss Bronson; I’m a locator. 
You see,” and his tone became unctuous and con¬ 
fidential sort, “the people who come here for land 


THE LAND 


35 


can’t very well find it themselves. They don’t 
know how to read section corners on the stones 
and all that. It’s pretty hard work sometimes, even 
for me, because this country was surveyed on 
horseback, and there’s corners unmarked and all 
that.” 

He paused and nodded impressively. “Then 
there’s the thing of knowing what’s left and what’s 
already taken up. I keep track of that and save 
my—er—customers a lot of trouble and expense. 
No, it’s necessary for land seekers to have help 
in getting located, ma’am, and that’s my business. 
I’ve located more people than anybody else that’s 
working in here. I guarantee satisfaction. I take 
you right out and show you the land, and if you 
don’t like one piece I show you another, or a 
lot of ’em, until you find a quarter section that 
suits you. But I can’t, show you anything better 
than this I’ve told you about, and that’s the posi¬ 
tive truth, Miss Bronson.” 

“If that’s the case there is a charge for your 
services,” the girl observed. 

“Of course,” Neeland admitted with a smirk. “I 
spend money keeping a record of all filings and 
for gasoline and tires; and I had to study the 
country for a long time, miss, so’s to be sure 
I wouldn’t be making any mistakes. But it’s the 
best policy to get located right and the value of 
the land I locate you on will more than make up 
for—my fee.” 


36 THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 

“What will you charge to locate my mother and 
myself ?” 

“Let’s see, let’s see,” said Neeland, exhibiting 
some measure of excitement. “That’s quite a ways 
ou t—that is, quite a ways out for locating , ma’am 
—an’ it’s an especial good section. That land will 
be worth a lot of money, Miss Rronson; I wouldn’t 
be surprised if it was worth fifty dollars an acre 
by the time you get your patent from the govern¬ 
ment. It’s as good wheat land as there is around 
here. Why, let’s see—I’ll locate you on the two 
choicest quarter sections out there for a hundred 
dollars apiece, Miss Rronson, an’ that’s a bargain 
price considering what you’ll be getting.” 

He leaned back, smiling benevolently, while the 
girl stared at him. 

“A hundred dollars apiece!” she gasped out. “Two 
hundred dollars! Why, I thought this was govern¬ 
ment land and that it was free!” 

“It is, it is,” said Neeland hastily. “All you’ve 
got to pay the government is a sixteen-dollar filing 
fee on each quarter section, live on the land, culti¬ 
vate some of it, an’ in five years you get your 
patent, unless you want to prove up in fourteen 
months. If you want to get title in fourteen 
months you can get it by paying a dollar an’ a 
quarter an acre then and get your deed. Rut, as 
I explained, it’s necessary to get located right, and 
us locators have to charge for our services.” 


THE LAND 


37 


Annalee Bronson looked a bit skeptical. “How 
long would it take you to locate us, Mr. Neeland?” 

“Oh, I can locate you in less’n half a day!” 
Neeland ejaculated eagerly. 

“It seems to me that two hundred dollars is 
pretty high pay for such a small amount of time 
and trouble,” the girl commented, pressing her lips 
firmly together. 

“But I had to go out there and locate those 
corners,” said Neeland in a complaining voice. “It 
ain’t all just taking folks out and putting them 
on the land. But, I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Miss 
Bronson; I’ll make it an even hundred and fifty 
and you can’t find another man in town that’ll 
locate you out there for that!” 

Annalee considered. It was true that it would 
be utterly impossible for her to go out and find 
a given homestead from a plat; it was true, too, 
that she had no way of knowing what was open 
to entry, even if she could find it. It was expense 
which she, like hundreds of others, hadn’t counted 
on, but there seemed to be no way to avoid it. 
And it probably would be worth the expense to 
get a good piece of land. Yes, there was undoubt¬ 
edly a difference in the land—that stood to reason. 

“Are there any—farms already established in 
that neighborhood, Mr. Neeland?” she inquired. 

“Not yet, but in six months there’ll be houses 
and fences all over this country,” Neeland replied 
convincingly. “This’ll be another Iowa and Min- 


38 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


nesota combined! Oh, there’s one ranch near you,” 
he added. “But that’s a stock place right on the 
river. It’ll all be cut up into farms some day, too.” 

“Well, we’ll see, Mr. Neeland,” said the girl 
thoughtfully. “I guess mother will be sufficiently 
rested to go out in a few days-” 

“Oh, Miss Bronson,” Neeland interrupted, “you 
can’t wait that long! Every train is bringing in 
land seekers; they’re coming in droves. That land 
will be taken up in no time a-tall. You want to 
go out right away and get yours. To-morrow morn¬ 
ing, bright and early, would be best. It isn’t neces¬ 
sary for your mother to go along, for you can 
see just what it is yourself, and I’ll give you the 
description to file on for both of you.” 

“So this is what they mean by the homestead 
rush,” observed the girl. 

“It is a rush, miss—first come, first served. 
That’s how all the land close to town went in a 
twinkling this spring. And they’ll be coming in all 
summer and fall. You better take my advice and 
come out in the morning so’s nobody will get 
ahead of you.” 

“Very well—if mother is agreeable,” decided the 
girl. “By the way, who lives on the stock ranch 
out there? I suppose we might as well know the 
name of our prospective neighbors.” 

“Some folks by the name of Capron,” Neeland 
replied. “I’ll call for you about eight or half past 
in the morning,” he added hurriedly. 



CHAPTER IY 


LOCATED 

TV 7HEN Annalee and her mother went down to 
” breakfast next morning, the girl took ad¬ 
vantage of the opportunity to ask the hotel clerk 
if it was customary to employ the services of a 
locator, and if Mark Neeland was reliable and his 
charge reasonable. 

“It’s customary, all right, ma’am,” the clerk as¬ 
sured her. “Anyway, it’s the safest way when 
you don’t know the country, and Neeland’s as re¬ 
liable as any of ’em—er—I guess. Some of ’em 
locate for fifty dollars a quarter, but I guess seventy- 
five ain’t too high.” 

The girl explained everything to her mother 
and Mrs. Bronson’s only comment was that they 
“might as well get the foolish business over with 
as soon as possible.” 

Neeland was waiting for them when they came 
out from breakfast. 

“Got my car right outside, Miss Bronson,” he 
said. “Won’t take us no time. Beautiful morning 
for a ride, anyway.” 

Annalee found it was, indeed a beautiful morning 
for a ride. The eastern horizon was bathed in 
gold, the skies were cloudless and of a delicate 


40 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


blue; everywhere the prairie stretched like a series 
of great, rolling green lawns; the cottonwoods along 
the river in the south reared their stately shapes 
in quiet majesty; the low buttes were pink but¬ 
tons of color in the sea of green, and to westward 
the high mountains were bathed in purple with 
gleaming minarets marking their summits against 
the sky line. 

The girl drew a deep breath. “It is wonderful!” 
she murmured in a tone of awe. 

“Ain’t it?” said Neeland, grinning. “Level as a 
board, just waiting for seed to sprout dollars!” 

“Oh, I wasn’t thinking of that ” said the girl 
with a shake of her head. “I referred to—to 
all this.” She made a sweeping gesture which 
included all the landscape. 

Neeland looked at her, puzzled. Then he bright¬ 
ened. “You mean the scenery. Of course. It’s 
great. You’ll have a fine view where I’m takin’ 
you.” 

But his speech had had the effect of bringing 
her thoughts around to their undertaking. She 
gazed critically at the long sweeps of prairie. Not 
a road, not a fence, not a building, not a living 
thing in sight; it was a great, empty, silent land 
which seemed to brood, to pulsate with some former 
life, and suddenly she felt a vague sense of mis¬ 
giving. 

She pictured the hills, the fertile valleys, the 
flowers and streams of her native State. Could 


LOCATED 


41 


this land—this “raw land,” as her mother called 
it—be made into farms? Could it be made to 
blossom? She recalled what she had heard of 
dry farming, or what was called dry farming. 
She did not know what it was; but she knew it 
was a form of agriculture made necessary because 
of a lack of rainfall. Could crops be made to grow 
without rain? She looked again at the skies and 
could see no hint of rain in them—no hint any¬ 
where that rain ever fell, except in the green 
of the grass on the prairie; and she had been told 
this was due to the fact that there had been lots 
of snow the winter before and that there had been 
a “late” spring. 

“How do they know grain will grow here?” she 
asked Neeland. 

“Why, ma’am, that’s the richest soil on earth,” 
shouted the locator above the noise of the motor. 
“It’ll grow anything. It’s richer than the Red 
River Valley in Dakota ever thought of being, an’ 
they grow wheat there.” 

“Rut—has anybody tried it?” the girl persisted. 
“I’ve seen no fields.” 

“Course not—but you will see ’em soon. They’ve 
tried it in spots, an’ always got crops. Rut it was 
done on a small scale. You see this was cattle coun¬ 
try, an’ the stockmen didn’t want—didn’t need 
wheat. Rut they grew oats higher than your head 
in the river bottoms.” 

Annalee felt convinced. She recalled the endless 


42 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


grain fields she had seen in the* Dakotas. Doubt¬ 
less Neeland was right. Rut at she looked about 
at the great, virgin land she realized fully, for the 
first time, the enormity of her undertaking to make 
a farm home for herself and her mother. True, 
there would certainly be men who could be hired 
to work, and they had a modest capital, but it 
would require a strain of moral courage of tougher 
fiber than any she had been called upon to exhibit 
in the twenty—nearly twenty-one years of her life¬ 
time spent in the peaceful Pennsylvania hills. 

She pressed her lips in renewed determination 
and shook off the insidious feeling of doubt. Even 
if they did not make a big thing of it, if it brought 
back her mother’s health- 

She felt a glow of gladness. The cool, dry, 
stimulating air of the simialtitudes had made her 
blood bound in her veins; caused her to feel bub¬ 
bling with energy which she hadn’t known she 
could possess in such a degree. Surely it would 
have some effect upon her mother. The dryness 
of the air would be healing, aided by the sun¬ 
shine; the altitude of thirty-three hundred feet 
would prove a stimulus to fagged nerves and heart. 
Yes, she felt it in her heart with a thrill of joy— 
her mother would become well here. 

The little car came to a rattling stop at the 
bottom of a rise of ground. 

“Want you to get out here, miss, so you can 
see what a fine piece I’ve got in store for you 



LOCATED 


43 


at one glance,” Neeland explained, although he ap¬ 
peared slightly nervous. “Just walk up with me.” 

He led her to the top of the rise and seemed 
to breathe a sigh of relief as he looked down 
toward the river at the vacant space of prairie 
between the rise and the nodding cottonwoods. 

“There!” he exclaimed, wiping his brow, although 
it was not warm. “There’s the best strip of land 
open to entry left in northern Montana! Look at 
it! Ain’t it perfect?” 

It did look good to Annalee. It was a long, 
gently sloping prairie, rich in grass, more green, 
she thought, than any she had seen on the ride 
out. 

“There’s springs down there, Miss Bronson,” Nee¬ 
land went on. “They don’t go dry till way in 
August, usually. If it happens to be a good, wet 
year they don’t go dry a-tall. Look! You can 
see where there’s some willows ’bout halfway to 
the river. See ’em? Well, the two quarters I 
had in mind for you an’ your mother are right 
there. Nor’east an’ sou’east quarters of section 
twelve—I’ll give you the descriptions for filing. 
There’s the place. It ain’t necessary for us to 
go down there; you can see ’em from here. There’s 
just what I tell you. Miss Bronson; the best pair 
of homesteads left hereabouts.” 

“How does it come no one has taken them up, 
then?” asked the girl. 

Neeland was nervously watching the line of trees 


44 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


to southward. He started at the question; then 
smiled complacently. 

“Everybody’s been wanting to get close to town, 
miss. Seems like that’s all they’ve got in their 
heads—close to town. I expect they figure land 
will be worth a whole lot close to town. Well, it 
will be; but land five miles from town that’s only 
average won’t be worth a cent more than land 
that’s unusually good farming land this far out. 
You want farming land, don’t you, Miss Rronson?” 

“Yes,” replied the girl shortly. 

“Well, there it is,” replied Neeland, beaming. 
“There’s as good as I can show you, and if you 
take my advice you’ll hustle right down and file 
on those two quarters in a hurry before somebody 
else gets a crack at ’em. You saw all we passed 
over; did you see any that looked better than this?” 

Annalee shook her head. The land the locator 
indicated did look favorable. It did look well 
watered. She visioned a farmhouse, a garden, ripen¬ 
ing fields, trees- 

“Will trees grow here, Mr. Neeland?” she asked 
anxiously. 

“Ab-so-lutely,” affirmed the locator. “All you’ve 
got to do is plant ’em. There’s a fine place below 
the springs there. You can have a garden in there, 

too-” He bit off his speech with a sharp intake 

of breath. 

“I believe I see a horse down there,” he said in 
some excitement. “Maybe somebody lookin’ the 




LOCATED 


45 


piece over right now. I think we better be gettin’ 
back as quick as we can, Miss Bronson, so you 
can get your filings in. You know, in this rush, 
you can’t be sure of anything till you’ve got your 
land-office receipt.” 

“Well, I guess this is as good as any,” the girl 
speculated. “Anyway, it is a kind of a gamble; 
and I like to see those trees below there-” 

“The river’s there, ma’am,” Neeland put in hastily. 
“You’re right in line for the irrigation project 
which will be put through some time. I’m sliowin’ 
you the best I’ve got, Miss Bronson—the very best.” 

“Then I believe we will take it,” said Annalee 
in decision. 

“Good!” exclaimed Neeland, turning back down 
the slope toward the car. “We’ll hurry back an’ 
make sure that it’s yours.” 

They drove back to Brant as fast as the car would 
go, and there Neeland delivered to Annalee a slip 
of paper upon which was written the description 
of the two quarter sections he had so strongly 
recommended. 

“Just hand that in at the land office in Great 
Falls,” he explained, “and tell them you and your 
mother want to locate on those two quarter sec¬ 
tions. Now there’s a train for the Falls about 
eleven o’clock, and you and your mother better go 
right down to-day—this morning. You can come 
back by suppertime.” 



46 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


The girl’s face had clouded. “Do we have to go 
down there, Mr. Neeland?” 

“Yes. The land office is there. You can do 
as you like, Miss Rronson, of course, but you’re 
taking a chance on waiting if you want that piece 
I showed you. Of course, if it’s gone, I can locate 
you on another-” 

“No,” said Annalee, stamping her foot. “We’ll 
go down to-day.” 

She had visualized the farm home that was to 
be in that spot near the weaving cottonwoods and 
the river. She felt the presence of the springs 
made sure the garden—and the trees and flowers. 
She had no desire to go again seeking a location. 
She longed to get started on the big task which 
confronted her. 

“My mother has to go, Mr. Neeland?” 

“That’s the way it is, miss,” said Neeland. 
“Everybody has to file in person. But it’s an 
easy trip and you can rest in the Falls before 
starting back, and then that part of it will be all 
tended to.” 

“Very well,” said the girl briskly. “Now I’ll 
pay you in traveler checks, and our business will 
be settled?” 

“Everything fine, ma’am.” 

Annalee paid him and went upstairs to her 
mother whom she found on the little balcony over 
the porch out from the small front parlor. 



LOCATED 47 

Mrs. Bronson looked up at her daughter with a 
smile. 

“Why, mumsy! You’re looking better and feel¬ 
ing better already!” crooned the girl, kissing her 
mother on the cheeks. 

“It’s—a lonesome-looking place, isn’t it, deary?” 
said her mother. “But it is wonderful air.” 

Annalee warmed to her description of the country 
as she had seen it on her morning ride and described 
the land which Neeland had shown her and which 
she had decided to file on. Then she explained 
why it would be necessary for them to take the 
train down to Great Falls to attend to their busi¬ 
ness in the land office, and Mrs. Bronson, although 
she objected at first, finally agreed with the laconic 
statement that she “wanted it all over with as 
soon as possible.” 

As they turned to go in, Annalee looked down 
into the street and drew back, startled. A man 
was dismounting from a horse in front of one of 
the buildings across the street. He was covered 
with dust, and the sides of the magnificent black 
horse he had ridden were also matted with dust 
through which the sweat had coursed, leaving un¬ 
sightly streaks. As the man had slammed his big 
hat against his thigh he had looked up through 
the resulting dust cloud at the moment the girl 
had looked down. Their eyes met, and Annalee 
recognized Silent Scott. The wistful, questioning, 


48 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


direct quality of his gaze remained with her as 
she followed her mother to their room. 

It irritated her to think that she should wonder 
about this man. Different? Perhaps he was differ¬ 
ent, in a way, from most of the men she had 
known; but were not different men to be en¬ 
countered in this new country? More than likely 
she would see many of them. She dismissed Silent 
Scott from her mind. 

She and her mother took the train for Great 
Falls where they visited the land office, found the 
quarter sections they had selected open to entry, 
and filed upon them. They returned by the after¬ 
noon train. 

Andy Sawtelle saw them again that evening 
as they were taking a walk through the little 
town in the twilight. He nodded. 

“We’re residents now,” Annalee called to him 
gayly. 

He stopped with his hat in his hand. “You’ve— 
filed?” he asked. 

The girl nodded, and her eyes sparkled as she 
told him of the day’s work, described the location 
of their homesteads, and recited what they planned 
to do in an enthusiastic voice. 

The poet whistled softly. “Quick work,” he ob¬ 
served, looking at her queerly. “Well, don’t forget 
what I said about being at your service.” He 
passed on with a smile and a bow to Mrs. Rronson. 


LOCATED 


49 


An hour later he met Neeland in the New West 
resort. “Neeland, you’re a rat!” he said shortly. 

“What—why-” But the locator read the poet’s 

look. “They wanted a good piece of land, and 
I saw that they got it,” he said in a mitigating 
tone. “Capron wouldn’t fight with a woman 
for-” 

“Do you know what they figure on doing?” asked 
Sawtelle scornfully. “They’re going to move on to 
that land right away —this week!” 

“The devil!” exclaimed Neeland, his jaw droop¬ 
ing. 

Sawtelle walked away with a disdainful shrug. 


CHAPTER V 


ANOTHER SIDE 

A NNALEE and her mother walked to the western 
end of the town, through the old section, star¬ 
ing wonderingly at the buildings with their flam¬ 
boyant signs and false fronts. 

It was rapidly becoming dark as they turned 
back. As they reached the Green Front resort the 
half doors in the entrance burst open and a man 
came hurtling through, falling in the street almost 
at their feet. 

Mrs. Bronson drew back with a scream. 

Before Annalee could recover from her astonish¬ 
ment, the doors burst open again and another man 
came running out. This man was followed by 
three others, all dressed in khaki who were striving 
to get away from the place as quickly as possible. 

Four of the men were running, and the one 
who had fallen to the ground was picking himself 
up when there came a crash and one of the small 
doors was smashed loose from its hinges and sent 
flying into the street. 

A bulky form loomed in the half light, filling 
the space before the door. Then there were streaks 
of red at the man’s hip and sharp reports which 
crashed upon the still air with the force of thunder¬ 
bolts. 


ANOTHER SIDE 


51 


The fleeing men darted in behind other build¬ 
ings and in less than half a minute the street was 
deserted save for Annalee and her mother. 

A roaring voice boomed out. “Fm serving notice 
on you damned land grabbers to stay on the east 
side of the tracks while Ym in town!” 

This speech was punctuated by two more shots, 
and then the big man thrust his smoking weapon 
into the holster on his right side and stood leering 
at Annalee, who was holding her mother. He seemed 
to enjoy her fright. 

“Hello, redhead!” he called out. “Stranger 
round here?” 

Annalee’s face was white, but her eyes were 
blazing. “You—you ruffian!” she cried in a chok¬ 
ing voice. 

It did not occur to her to be afraid of the gun, 
or the man. She looked up angrily into the swarthy 
features and black, slightly bloodshot eyes of the 
big man who stood, with legs braced well apart, 
towering above her. 

“You’ve frightened my mother into a faint,” she 
accused. “I suppose you think you are brave— 
you bully.” 

The man scowled. “You’ve got a lot of spunk 
for a pale-faced Easterner,” he said growlingly. 

Mrs. Bronson moaned in her daughter’s arms. 

“Get away!” cried the girl. “Get away from 
here, you brute!” 

Mrs. Bronson came to with a vacant look in 


52 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


her eyes which was followed in a moment by a 
terrified stare at the man before them. 

Annalee soothed her with reassuring words. “Just 
a big, overgrown bully such as could be found in 
any part of the country,” she told the older woman. 
“Thinks he’s having a good time scaring people 
with a pistol and frightening women. He’s prob¬ 
ably drunk, and they’ll have him in the jail before 
morning.” 

The man’s bloodshot eyes were blazing wrath- 
fully. “You talk like a school-teacher,” he said 
sneeringly. “Your kind’s been trained out here 
before. I’ve a good notion to box your ears or 
kiss you, one or t’other.” 

Annalee’s face went white as chalk. “You’re 
not only a bully and a brute, you’re a beast!” she 
said with contempt and loathing in her tone. 

A younger man had appeared at the other man’s 
side. “Be easy with the kid, Jake,” he said; “she’s 
new here and you ain’t in the best shape-” 

“Who says I ain’t?” roared the big man, throw¬ 
ing the other from him. 

Annalee was drawing away with her mother. 
She could not understand why some of the men 
who must be near did not take a hand and check 
the bully who had accosted her. And were men 
allowed to shoot promiscuously like that? Guns! 

Silent Scott! She almost wished he would ap¬ 
pear, for she believed he was of entirely different 


ANOTHER SIDE 53 

caliber from this man who had warned the home¬ 
steaders away from the old town. 

The younger man was again talking earnestly to 
the other, and as the girl and her mother moved 
over to the other side of the street, Annalee saw 
the big man turn back into the resort, leaving a 
trail of curses which carried to her ears and made 
her gasp with mortification and resentment. 

Then the younger man came hurrying toward 
them, doffing his big hat. “I’m sorry, miss,” he 
said in what was evidently intended as a tone of 
apology. “Jake’s just got back from the Falls, 
and it always starts him on the rampage when he 
goes down there. Too many dumps down there 
lay in’ for stockmen.” 

Annalee didn’t like the look in the young man’s 
shifty brown eyes. He appeared too confident— 
too much at ease. 

“He wouldn’t have done what he did if he’d 
been right,” the youth went on. “He don’t get 
this way often, an’ when he does, here lately, he 
takes it out on the homesteaders. He’s just nat¬ 
urally sore at ’em, being an old cow hand. You— 
living round here?” 

“You had better go back and look after your 
friend,” said the girl coldly. “Fortunately I know 
he is not a true example of the manners of men 
in the West, and I hope you will help me to retain 
my first impressions.” 


54 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


The young man laughed softly as she took her 
mother by the arm and walked away. 

“Anna, I told you,” complained Mrs. Bronson. 
“This is a wild, rough country; it isn’t the country 
for us. Oh, deary, we never should have come. 
I know—I know!” 

“We are not going to let any beast like that 
drive us away,” said the girl in as strong a voice 
as she could muster. “We could expect something 
like that anywhere where men are drinking, mother. 
We shouldn’t have come over here, that’s all; this 
isn’t a desirable part of the town.” 

But despite her words, Annalee again felt a 
tremor of doubt. Nor could she understand why 
some of the other men, who now were again appear¬ 
ing on the street, hadn’t taken a hand in the affair. 
Her lips curled in contempt. Were they all afraid 
of this bully? Had he driven them to cover with 
half a dozen pistol shots and his roaring voice? 
Then she was struck with a sudden thought. Sup¬ 
pose all the shots had not been wild! Would 
this man have killed if any one had tried to inter¬ 
fere? 

Now that it was all over, the girl felt weak. 
Perhaps her mother was right. In any event it 
appeared to be a man’s job—this carving a home 
out of a raw country. But she bit her lip in 
resolution. 

When they entered the hotel lobby she saw 
several men talking near the door and caught a 


ANOTHER SIDE 


5o 


glimpse of flashing stars on their vests. She asked 
the porter to bring her some ice water, and when 
he came shuffling to the room she told him of the 
occurrence on the west side of the tracks. 

“Oh, I reckon thet was Jake Gruger,” said the 
porter, with a grin, displaying his tobacco-stained 
teeth. “Yes, that was Jake, all right. The kid was 
hep to him. He’s been to the Falls an’ he alius 
comes hack on a tear when he’s been down there. 
They don’t cross him when he’s takin’ on likker, 
an’ he don’t make no fuss onless it’s serious, when 
he’s sober, which is most of the time.” 

“But—do they let him shoot like that, and carry 
a pistol?” asked the girl. 

“I don’t reckon anybody could stop him shootin’,” 
replied the grinning porter. “He’s tolerably fast 
with his smoke iron, an’ there ain’t any hereabouts 
that I know of as would want to try to heat him 
to the draw.” 

“The—draw?” 

“Sure. That’s gettin’ your gun out an’ into 
action,” the man explained. “Jake kin draw an’ 
shoot at the hip an’ hit a dime sideways further’n 
some folks kin see!” 

“But there are officers in town,” the girl pointed 
out. “I saw them downstairs.” 

“Oh, them?” said the porter with a deprecating 
gesture. “They’re tryin’ to locate the man that held 
up the stage from Choteau early this mornin’. They 
ain’t figurin’ on botherin’ Jake.” 


56 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


“A holdup?” faltered the girl. This was another 
side to the country which she had come to adopt. 

“Oh, yes. Some gent was short of change, so 
he horrered what the stage driver was carryin’ 
down to the express office. That happens now an’ 
then; there’s still a few live ones hereabouts.” 

Annalee stared at him in amazement. “Rut—do 
they know who did it?” 

“If they do, I don’t reckon they want folks to 
think they do,” cackled the porter. “Retween you 
an’ me, I ’spect they think Silent Scott did it; 
hut they’d have about as much chance with Silent 
as they would with Jake Gruger.” 

“Oh!” exclaimed the girl, staring with wide eyes. 
“Is this—this Silent—a stage robber?” 

“Nobody seems to know quite what he is, miss,” 
said the porter cheerfully. “He’s slick, anyways.” 

“And do both these men live here?” she asked. 

“Naw—they come an’ go. Silent’s movements 
are about as easy to trace as a maverick steer in 
the bad lands. Jake Gruger lives out here apiece. 
He’s foreman on the Capron Ranch along the river, 
the C-Rar, they call it, after the brand. That 
was young Myrle Capron with him.” 

Annalee remembered Neeland had said the ranch 
below where she had selected the homesteads be¬ 
longed to some people by the name of Capron. 

“Oh—oh,” she said in a queer voice as the porter 
left. 

Then she sank down in a chair, her lips pressed 


ANOTHER SIDE 


57 


tight, and fought with the depression which had 
settled upon her as the result of the news she had 
just learned. 

A breeze, fragrant with the tang of the sweet 
grasses, filtered in through the window, which 
opened on the west, and brought with it the sounds 
of revelry in the old town across the tracks. 


CHAPTER YI 


RUMORS OF WAR 


ITH the clear sunlight and crisp air of an- 



W other perfect morning, Annalee Bronson’s 
spirits revived. She sang as she dressed in a 
natty, brown suit which set off her hair and com¬ 
plexion, and went often to the window to look 
at the rolling prairie which flung its green mantle 
to the foothills of the purple mountains. 

Mrs. Bronson, too, was more cheerful. The in¬ 
vigorating quality of the climate was beginning to 
make itself felt, and she forgot her fears in ad¬ 
miration of the radiant beauty and superb health 
of her daughter. 

The two of them were laughing as they went 
down to breakfast. 

“I’m going to see the railroad people and find 
out about our freight,” the girl declared. “Then 
I’m going to order the lumber for our little, tem¬ 
porary house, mother—we’ll have a better one in 
a year or two—and arrange to have it sent out to 
the farm.” She paused as she considered how the 
word sounded. Then she laughed. 

“We’re farmers, now, mother. And I’m going to 
hire some men to build the house. When we’re 
installed in the house it’ll be time enough to take 


RUMORS OF WAR 


59 


up the other things, one at a time. We don’t have 
to hurry, and no one can take our land away from 
us—even if we should run out of money!” 

A worried look appeared for an instant on Mrs. 
Bronson’s face. “You must he careful of the ex¬ 
pense, dear,” she cautioned; “we haven’t much, 
you know—three thousand for the house in Colters- 
port was hardly enough, hut I had to take what I 
could get. We’ve less than five thousand alto¬ 
gether.” 

“But that will be more than enough here, mother,” 
said the girl, cheerfully. “We get the land for 
nothing, and all we have to do is build a tem¬ 
porary house and put in enough of a crop to 
see us through the first year. Don’t worry. I’ll 
watch our nest egg.” 

Annalee was busy the remainder of the morning. 
She found that the car containing the household 
goods they had shipped from the East had arrived 
only the day before them. The railroad people 
said they would hold the car two or three days 
until it could be unloaded by the various home¬ 
steaders whose effects it contained. 

She visited the new lumber yard where the 
manager helped her with her plans, advising a 
three-room house of two bedrooms and a living 
room and kitchen combined for a starter. He 
said he would figure out the lumber and other 
materials needed and would start his men hauling 
them out to the location next day. 


60 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


“We have some carpenters working with us,” 
he smilingly explained; “homesteaders, too, most 
of them, who are taking advantage of the oppor¬ 
tunity to earn some money before going to live on 
their claims, and we will send three or four of 
them out to put up your house.” 

Annalee thought this a very excellent arrange¬ 
ment and rented a tent in which she and her 
mother could live for the time required to build 
the house. 

She then approached a man who had a small, 
boxlike building on the main street near the rail¬ 
road tracks and who advertised: 

TEAMING & HAULING 

Goods Hauled Anywhere 

She explained that she wanted her household 
goods transported to her homestead and her mother’s. 

“Sure—I’ll get ’em there,” boomed the transfer 
man who had long, tobacco-stained mustaches. 
“Where is your place?” 

“It’s east about twenty miles,” he girl explained. 
“Near the river. I’ll have to go out with you— 
but, no I won’t. I’ll go out with the men hauling 
the lumber to-morrow and you can follow them. 
It’s right north of the—the Gapron place, I believe.” 

The man’s eyes widened, and he fingered the 
ends of his mustaches. 

“Out there, eh?” he said vaguely. “Just north 
of the Caprons? How fur north, ma’am?” 


RUMORS OF WAR 


61 


“Oh, I should say a mile or a mile and a half 
north of the river, and I understand their ranch 
is at the river.” 

“Yes, yes,” he admitted, without looking directly 
at her; “yes, that’s where it is. The C-Bar’s ’bout 
twenty miles east of here. Well, now, miss, 
come to think of it, I don’t think I’ll be able to 
haul that stuff of yours after all. That’s quite 
a ways, although that wouldn’t count if I didn’t 
have so much to do, but—why don’t you get the 
lumber people to take it out?” 

“Why did you change your mind so quickly?” 
demanded Annalee impatiently. “I didn’t think 
twenty miles was considered such a great distance 
in this country.” 

“It ain’t, it ain’t,” said the man, agitating his 
mustaches some more. “It ain’t so fur, but it’s too 
fur for me right now. Anyway, I ain’t haulin’ 
anything out in that perticular locality just yet. 
I’ve got all I can tend to closer to town. That’s 
all there is to it, lady; I wouldn’t turn you down 
if I didn’t have my good reasons fur it.” 

The girl walked away from him in disgust. 
Turning back toward the hotel she came face to 
face with the big man who had driven the home¬ 
steaders from the old town resort the night before. 

Jake Gruger gave her a flashing glance out of 
his dark eyes and passed her without further 
recognition. 

Although their gaze had met but for an instant. 


62 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


Annalee had detected a new quality in the man’s 
eyes—a menacing quality, quickly appraising, ag¬ 
gressive, and forbidding. It was plain he was not 
drunk this morning, and he was a different in¬ 
dividual, she felt sure. For good or evil he was 
a force to be reckoned with, and he was to be a 
neighbor! 

Annalee shuddered involuntarily as she hurried 
on toward the hotel. She recognized two of the 
officers she had seen the night before. They were 
standing by a little car outside the hotel entrance. 
Remembering what the porter had said, she felt 
the impulse to go up to them and ask them if 
they were indeed looking for Silent Scott. Then 
the red suffused her cheeks. Afraid of one des¬ 
perado and interested in another! It was ridic¬ 
ulous. 

The hotel porter had as much as said that Scott 
was a doubtful character; probably he hadn’t told 
the half of what he knew. And Silent Scott’s 
horse had been covered with dust from a long 
ride when she had seen his master dismount the 
morning before. Had he just come from the scene 
of the holdup? Rut, in any event, it was none 
of her business. 

“It’s an even bet, Miss Rronson.” 

“What’s—what’s that?” said the girl, looking 
about her in astonishment. 

Andy Sawtelle was bowing at her left. “I was 


RUMORS OF WAR 


63 


saying, it’s an even bet, ma’am, that you’re more 
beautiful than the morning.” 

“Oh, Mr. Sawtelle, where have you been?” she 
asked severely. 

“I’ve been wooing the Goddess of Chance, ma’am,” 
he replied with a sigh. “But, alas: 

“An ace in the hole, ma’am, means nothing to me, 

Though I push in my checks most high, wide and free. 

Some guy with three deuces, or maybe a pair, 

Is certain to leave me all busted for fair.” 

“So, you’re a poet,” teased the girl; “and a 
gambler,” she added, with a frown. 

“An abandoned poet and an abominable gambler,” 
smilingly replied Sawtelle. 

“I wonder,” said the girl thoughtfully, “if you 
could give me some advice. You are—acquainted 
here—and about the only person I seem to know— 
that is-” 

“Advice?” said the poet, brightening. “My long 
suit, ma’am. No reference to cards,” he added, 
holding up an open palm. “Let us go into the 
hostelry and the wisdom of the plains is at your 
disposal through one of Nature’s playthings.” 

Annalee didn’t quite know why she laughed, nor 
why her seeming mirth appeared out of place. 

In the lobby, where they seated themselves in 
two of the several vacant arm-chairs, she told Saw¬ 
telle of her adventures of the morning. 

“You’ve made one mistake already,” he said. 



64 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


“You must have two shacks—houses, I should say. 
Miss Bronson. We call ’em shacks out here, and 
most of ’em are just that. You must have one for 
your mother on her homestead, where she has to 
live, and one for yourself on your homestead, 
where you have to live. You see, it’s the law that 
you each have to live on your own places. Funny 
that lumber fellow wouldn’t know that much, but 
he’s just come—well, everybody’s raw at this new 
game, ma’am.” 

The girl readily saw the wisdom in what he had 
said. She told him of the sudden change of heart 
on the part of the transfer man. 

“You should have told me what you wanted to 
do in advance,” he complained. “Didn’t I tell you 
I’d he happy to be of service? Now I’ll see that 
lumber fellow and tell him what you want in the 
way of two small, practical, two-room shacks— 
houses—and I’ll get somebody to haul out your 
things. All you got to do is pay the bills, miss; 
and this homesteading isn’t as cheap a proposition 
as some think,” he pointed out with a side glance 
at her. “By time a homestead is made into a farm 
it’ll cost as much as it would to buy an improved 
place first off.” 

The girl missed the significance of his last sen¬ 
tence. She was finding his assistance welcome, 
and she was reflecting on that fact. Also, she 
wanted to ask him about Silent Scott and the 
stage robbery, and tell him of Jake Gruger’s per- 


RUMORS OF WAR 


60 


formance of the night before. But, somehow, she 
couldn’t bring herself to speak of these things. 

“I’ll gladly pay the bills, Mr. Sawtelle,” she 
assured him; “and I’ll be ever so much indebted 
to you for your—your help and courtesy.” 

He waved a hand and looked at her quizzically 
with lifted brows. 

“ ’Tis not for thanks I do this, ma’am; 

But for the busy fraud I am!” 

She laughed delightedly. “You are a most am¬ 
biguous poet, Mr. Sawtelle. I never know quite 
what you mean. But I’m going to thank you 
whether you want me to or not. Now I must 
run up to mother and tell her everything will be 
all right.” 

“Tell her you have reason to think so, anyhow,” 
said the poet gravely. 

She looked at him quickly. “Mr. Sawtelle, tell 
me,” she said impetuously, “will the Caprons like 
it because we have taken up land down there near 
them?” 

Sawtelle shrugged. “They’re old-timers. They 
forgot this land belonged to the government and 
thought it was theirs, they had run cattle over it 
so long. All the stock people were that way. But 
they’ll get over it—and they can’t very well fight 
a woman.” 

Annalee again felt a tinge of misgiving as he 
moved away. 


66 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


So that was it. They couldn’t fight a woman! 
She found herself wondering what Jake Gruger 
could he expected to do in the case of a man. 

Late that afternoon Sawtelle came to them with 
the information that all arrangements for their 
settling on their homesteads had been made. 

“I took the liberty of cutting down a bit on 
that lumber gent’s plans,” the poet explained. “He 
had some high notions about fancy doors and such 
that I chased out of his head. I assumed that 
you want two practical, moderately expensive 
houses; and they’ll be located close to the dividing 
line between the homesteads, so you will each be 
on your land but close together. They start out 
with the lumber in the morning, and I’ve found a 
homesteader who’ll haul out tHie furniture and 
baggage. About day after to-morrow you might 
plan to slip out there-” 

“No,” said Annalee in quick decision; “we go 
right out to-morrow. We want to be there from 
the start.” 

Sawtelle shrugged. He had a habit of agreeing, 
protesting, or washing his hands of a matter by his 
shrug. 

“Then I’ll have to see about your conveyance,” 
he said. 

“Maybe Mr. Neeland would run us out in his 
car,” suggested the girl. 

Sawtelle’s eyes widened, and he laughed. “You 



RUMORS OF WAR 67 

couldn’t drag Mr. Neeland out there at the end of 
a rawhide lariat!” he said cryptically. 

“And why not?” Annalee demanded. 

“Because Mr. Neeland has decided his hide isn’t 
puncture proof,” replied the poet with a puzzling 
smile. “I’ll have to see him to make sure of your 
locations.” 

Annalee and her mother were too busy getting 
their personal belongings ready that evening to do 
much thinking about the veiled insinuations which 
had come to their ears regarding impending trouble 
because of their homestead locations. Nor did the 
girl give these subtle hints much credence. To 
both of them the matter now became an exciting 
adventure; they were anxious to begin the struggle 
to make their dreams come true. To Annalee the 
adventure appeared haloed by the glamour of a 
strange romance; to her mother it was a hoped- 
for practical means of making her daughter in¬ 
dependent. 

Early next morning Sawtelle came for them and 
took them down to a spring wagon in which their 
personal belongings had been placed. He said 
he had hired the wagon and horses and would 
drive them out himself. 

They left the town behind and were soon in a 
sea of green prairie. Two miles out, at the crest 
of a rise of ground, they looked back and saw 
three wagons loaded with lumber and other supplies 
following them. 


68 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


It was the only sign of movement in that vast 
plain which soon was to he dotted with the 
shacks of homesteaders and scarred by the barbed 
wire of the vanguard of agriculture. 

“Mother!” exclaimed the girl in an excited voice. 
“We’re pioneers!” 

Mrs. Rronson smiled bravely and pressed her 
daughter’s hand. 

Sawtelle tickled the backs of the horses with the 
whip and looked steadily ahead. Once he turned 
and spoke. 

“It’s a funny thing that green and gold so often 
go together. These prairies will be as yellow as 
a canary’s wing in three weeks.” 

His gaze roved the line of cottonwoods along the 
river in the south. 


CHAPTER YII 


DEVELOPMENTS 

X TIGHTFALL saw a strange scene on the virgin 
* ^ prairie north of the river. The last glow of 
the sunset tinted the white of a tent a faint pink 
and touched with gold a pile of lumber. A streamer 
of smoke trailed above a small camp stove about 
which two women hovered, preparing a meal. 
Trunks were ranged on one side outside the tent, 
a cloudless sky promising immunity from rain, 
and two horses were eating grain from the rear 
of a spring wagon, tended by a lanky individual 
who hummed a queer tune to himself. 

They ate in the open—Annalee, Mrs. Bronson, 
and Andy Sawtelle. A lantern, hung high in the 
tent’s opening, shed its yellow rays over the repast, 
which was simple, and mostly garnered from cans, 
but appetizing, nevertheless. 

Sawtelle was moody and noncommunicative. The 
girl and her mother showed the excitement of 
adolescents at a picnic. 

“I’ll go down first thing in the morning and 
get a load of furniture,” Sawtelle said when the 
supper was finished. “The carpenters will be up 
with the lumber wagons by noon. They’ll bring 
their outfits with them, but I expect they’ll look 
to you to cook for them.” 


70 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


He looked questioningly at the women. Annalee 
nodded cheerfully. Then she thought of something 
and gazed at him in dismay. 

“Where—Where will you sleep?” she stammered. 

The poet waved an arm in a gesture of deprecia¬ 
tion. “Under the stars, where I belong,” he said 
simply. “Fve had the ground for a pillow and the 
sky for a cover ever since I can remember—almost. 
And I took the precaution to bring along a pair of 
blankets,” he added with a smile as he built a 
brown-paper cigarette. 

“You women seem to think this is untamed coun¬ 
try,” he went on, the light of his cigarette burn¬ 
ing a hole in the misty twilight. “Is isn’t. It’s 
warm and friendly, when you get to know it. It 
can’t be bad when the meadow larks prefer it.” 

He rose and went out to look after the horses 
and make his bed on the prairie. 

Annalee went to the spring for a cool drink 
while her mother retired into the tent. 

The girl stood for a long time looking out over 
the brooding land under the first stars. From 
somewhere, far off, a coyote began its nocturnal 
serenade—a last survivor of the wild life that had 
teemed on the plains. In the whisper of the 
scented wind, the moving shadows and the coyote’s 
plaintive cry, Annalee sensed something of the ro¬ 
mance of the new country she had dreamed about; 
caught something of the significance of that seem¬ 
ingly boundless expanse which had lured strong 


DEVELOPMENTS 71 

men and wrought strange miracles with their 
minds. 

It was nearly midnight when she fell asleep, 
with the weird droning of the prairie wind drum¬ 
ming its unintelligible message into her ears. 

Sawtelle was off early for town next day. The 
women were busy making their temporary canvas 
home as comfortable as possible. They soon found 
the heat of noonday unbearable and walked down 
to the shade of the tall cottonwoods along the 
river. 

They found many well-worn trails and pushed 
on through the timber until they came to a fence 
and a gate. They could see a big field in the 
river bottom, with growing grain thrusting its green 
shoots up through the soil. 

“Look, mother, it’s proof!” cried Annalee. “They 
are raising wheat or something, right here close 
to us!” 

Beyond the field they could catch glimpses of 
the slow-moving surface of the river. 

Suddenly, before the women could withdraw, a 
man on a horse burst into view and came gallop¬ 
ing across the field toward the gate. The girl’s 
lips tightened as she recognized the young man who 
had interceded the night Jake Gruger had ac¬ 
costed her. 

“Hello,” he called as he rode up to the gate. 
“What’re you folks doin’ out here?” 

“We were wondering what is growing in that 


72 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


field,” said the girl. She resented the vivid in¬ 
terest he showed in her. 

He looked around with a blank expression. “Oh 
—that? Oats.” He smiled at them complacently. 
“Did you come out here to see ’em? They’ll grow 
here in the bottoms, but they won’t grow any¬ 
where else. We raise a crop every year for the 
stock. Want to come over to the house?” 

“I—don’t believe so,” Annalee answered, while 
her mother surveyed the horseman critically. 

“Might as well,” the youth urged. “This is the 
C-Bar—Capron place—I’m Myrle Capron. Guess 
the womenfolks would be glad to see you; they 
don’t have any too many visitors.” He smiled 
at her. 

“We couldn’t come to-day,” said the girl, relent¬ 
ing in the face of his frankness and invitation. 
“We are expecting some carpenters up to our place 
and more lumber and other things from town, and 
—well, I guess we’re too busy to pay any calls 
to-day, but-” 

“Your place!” Myrle exclaimed, showing intense 
astonishment. “Where’s your place?” 

“We have located on a homestead, or two home¬ 
steads, rather, about a mile north of here,” ex¬ 
plained Annalee. 

“Oh, now, you’re handin’ me one,” said the 
youth derisively. “You don’t figure on tryin’ to 
farm in here!” 


DEVELOPMENTS 


73 


“We’ve taken up land with that object in view,” 
said the girl severely. 

Myrle Capron looked at the two of them in won¬ 
der; then a shade of displeasure, mingled with dis¬ 
belief, flitted across his gaze. 

“You’re haulin’ in lumber, an’ bringin’ out car¬ 
penters-” He stopped speaking, looking dum- 

founded. 

“Is there anything so strange in that, young 
man?” asked Mrs. Bronson sharply. “It is cus¬ 
tomary, is it not, when one settles in this new 
country, to first build a home?” 

“This ain’t a new country, ma’am,” the youth 
retorted wryly; “it’s older’n you think. Maybe it’s 
too old to learn new tricks!” 

“Let’s not be arguing about it, mother,” said 
the girl impatiently. “The viewpoint of these peo¬ 
ple, who are stock raisers, is different from that 
of the home seekers, as I’ve been given to under¬ 
stand.” 

“Anyway, I’ll agree with anybody that we’ve 
got a good-looking neighbor,” said Myrle with a 
grin. 

Annalee turned her back to him and drew her 
mother away. When she looked back from among 
the trees she saw him sitting his horse, looking 
after them. 

“I’m afraid the young men in this lonely place 
are going to prove irritating, dear,” Mrs. Bronson 
observed; but Annalee merely laughed. 



74 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


When they emerged from the trees they saw 
that the lumber wagons had arrived. They hur¬ 
ried back to the home site and found the three 
men, who were to build the houses, eating their 
lunches which they had brought with them. 

“We’ll have your shacks up in no time a-tall,” 
promised the spokesman of the carpenters. “We 
ain’t minded to make this any long job with the 
hot weather right on top of us.” 

And they proved true to the man’s word; for 
they set about laying the foundations of six-by-six 
timbers as soon as they finished eating. 

It seemed to the girl and her mother that they 
could see the small houses take form under their 
very eyes during the afternoon. Sawtelle had run 
a line, marking the division of the two quarter 
sections, according to the information he had re¬ 
ceived from Neeland, and the carpenters began 
building the houses facing each other—one on the 
south side of the division line, and the other on the 
north side. In this way it would be possible for 
Annalee and Mrs. Rronson to be near each other, 
and yet each would be living on her own land, 
thus complying with the law. 

Sawtelle arrived in mid-afternoon with a large 
wagon load of furniture and other belongings from 
the car on the railroad siding. 

“Borrowed a tarp from the lumber people to 
put over this stuff till your roofs are ready,” he 
said cheerfully, displaying a big canvas. 


DEVELOPMENTS 


75 


The lumber wagons, unloaded, started back to 
town, one of the drivers telling Annalee that he 
would be back with the last of the material, and 
the shingles, in the morning. 

Sawtelle called upon the carpenters to help him 
in unloading the furniture and packing boxes, and 
when that had been finished he turned to, in the 
late afternoon, and lent his aid to the carpenters 
-while Annalee and Mrs. Bronson set about the 
task of getting supper for all. 

They were thus busily engaged when the rapid 
pound of hoofs came to their ears, causing them 
to look up from their tasks. Three horsemen were 
galloping up the gentle slope from the line of trees 
to the south. 

The carpenters stared with interest at the sight 
of the men in chaps and broad-brimmed hats; Mrs. 
Bronson looked worried, while the girl bit her lip 
and glanced apprehensively at Sawtelle, who was 
frowning and muttering something to himself. 

The leader of the three riders pulled up his 
horse a scant three yards from the workmen. It 
was Jake Gruger, and his black eyes were dart¬ 
ing menace. 

“What’s going on here?” he demanded. 

The spokesman of the carpenters stepped for¬ 
ward hesitatingly, a puzzled look on his face. 
“We’re—building a couple of shacks, he an¬ 
nounced. 

Gruger’s thick lips curled in a sneer. Myrle 


76 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


Capron, sitting his horse behind the C-Bar fore- 
man, looked on with amusement. The third rider, 
a lean, dark-faced man, toyed with the ends of his 
black, drooping mustaches, and stared tolerantly at 
the group. Gruger did not look at Annalee or her 
mother. He glared at the carpenters and Andy 
Sawtelle. It was Sawtelle whom he now ad¬ 
dressed. 

“You taking a hand in this?” he asked curtly. 

“Fm working here at present,” replied the poet. 
“These ladies have filed on two homesteads here. 
I’ve looked at the corners and think they are on 
the right land.” 

Gruger’s brow gathered into a black frown. “It’s 
the first time you ever saw much in work,” he 
snapped out. “Maybe the skirt’s got you locoed. 
You ought to know it can’t be done here. This 
is C-Bar range. Now, you fellows”—and he turned 
his blazing eyes on the startled carpenters—“get 
going. You hear me? Get going an’ get going 
fast!” he roared, jerking his gun out of the holster 
on his right thigh. 

Mrs. Bronson shrank back at sight of the wea¬ 
pon, horrified. The girl was stunned by the force 
in Gruger’s voice. The man meant what he was 
saying. 

Sawtelle stepped forward as the carpenters drew 
back, cowed by the C-Bar foreman’s attitude. 

“You ain’t figuring on making war on women. 


DEVELOPMENTS 77 

are you, Gruger?” he asked, a nervous inflection in 
his voice. 

“You rhyming prairie tramp, keep your mouth 
shut!” shouted Gruger. “Stick to putting words 
together an’ don’t get to meddling with men! You’ll 
get your fool head Mowed off if you mix up in 
this!” 

The carpenters were hastily gathering their be¬ 
longings together. They had heard something of 
the animosity displayed by certain of the stockmen 
against homesteaders. They realized they could 
work in more peaceful surroundings. 

Annalee had meant to interfere, but Gruger’s 
rage, Myrle Capron’s warning look, and the satis¬ 
fied, evil gleam in the eyes of the dark-faced man 
beside Gruger, deterred her. 

In the lull which followed Gruger’s outburst, 
galloping hoofs were heard again, and a man came 
riding down the slope from the rise of ground to 
northward. 

The girl felt a thrill of hope as she recognized 
Silent Scott. He rode down to the group with a 
mildly questioning look in his serene blue eyes. 

Gruger was frowning heavily. Myrle Capron ap¬ 
peared surprised. The third man from the C-Bar 
stared at the newcomer narrowly. 

“Evening,” Scott greeted. 

Annalee was amazed at the softness of his voice; 
puzzled by the quality of his smile. 


78 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


“What do you want?” growlingly inquired 
Gruger. 

“Answering that would be a big order,” drawled 
Silent Scott. He looked askance at Andy Saw- 
telle. 

“This girl and her mother have filed on home¬ 
steads, here,” the poet explained quickly. “These 
three men are carpenters, and I was helping them 
start the houses when Gruger busted in and ordered 
’em out.” 

“Shut up!” roared Gruger. “I’ll do what ex¬ 
plaining is needed, an’ there’s none coming so 
far’s he’s concerned.” He nodded angrily toward 
Silent. 

“The man has the right of speech, Gruger,” 
Scott said softly. “Why bother the women?” 

Gruger shoved his gun into its holster and 
edged his horse toward Scott’s. “You aimin’ to 
horn into this?” His voice was sharp. 

“I’ll help to see that women who are strangers 
here get a fair deal, I reckon,” Scott replied evenly. 

The carpenters, genuinely frightened, were on 
the point of taking to their heels. 

“Stay here, you men!” Scott ordered crisply. 

“You forgettin’ I told ’em to go?” cried Gruger. 

“But they’ve just heard different,” said Scott 
coldly, meeting Gruger’s blazing glare. “I reckon 
you’re forgettin’ it’s women that’s filed here, 
Gruger.” Scott’s words came like the crack of a 
whiplash. 


DEVELOPMENTS 


79 


“An 5 I reckon you’re playin’ to bring things 
to a show-down,” Gruger gritted through his 
teeth. 

“If it’s gun play you’re threatening, Gruger, we’ll 
leave the women out of it,” said Scott sternly. 

The girl gasped as she saw the look in the two 
men’s eyes and their tense postures with hands 
poised above their guns. 

“Don’t!” she managed to get out in a loud 
whisper. “Oh—don’t!” 

For what seemed minutes, but which was only 
a few seconds, the two men looked into each other’s 
eyes, each ready on the instant to answer the 
slightest indication of a move on the part of the 
other. 

Then Gruger’s eyes widened and his lips curled. 
“You, too,” he said sneeringly; “but you’re callin’ 
the turn, Silent.” 

He whirled his horse and, with a flashing look 
of rage at Sawtelle and the carpenters, drove in 
his spurs. Myrle Capron and the man with him 
galloped after their leader. 

Scott looked smilingly down at the girl. 

She drew a long breath of relief. Then she 
noted that Scott’s left hand was roughly bandaged 
with a handkerchief. 

“Oh—you’re hurt!” she exclaimed. 

“Lucky it was in the left hand,” he muttered 
in a low tone that carried only to Sawtelle’s un¬ 
derstanding ears. 


CHAPTER VIII 


AN ENIGMA 

QILENT dismounted with a whimsical look at 
^ the girl and her mother, who were regarding 
him curiously, and approached Andy Sawtelle. He 
was smiling, tipping his head a bit to the left, 
almost swaggering in graceful awkwardness in his 
black chaps. 

“You helping build the shacks?” he drawled out. 

Sawtelle nodded with a grimace. “Neeland 
picked the spot for them,” he said, indicating 
Annalee and Mrs. Bronson. “Gruger was down in 
the Falls a few days and Neeland got busy. Nice 
land,” the poet added in a vague voice. 

“Good as any north of the Teton,” Silent agreed, 
drawing papers and tobacco from his shirt pocket. 

He scowled at the bandage on his left hand as he 
gingerly fashioned a cigarette with his right. He 
snapped a match into flame with a thumb nail, lit 
his smoke, and frowned at the three carpenters. 

“You boys better hop to it an’ get your work 
done,” he advised. “I’ll hang around close till 
you’ve finished, but I’m not aiming to wait here 
long. Come on—quit staring an’ get busy.” 

The carpenters hesitated, looking from the speaker 
to the line of trees in the south and back to Saw- 



AN ENIGMA 


81 


telle. The poet grinned and went back to work. 
After a few moments of indecision the carpenters 
followed his example. Then Scott turned back 
to the two women. 

“You’ve had some hard-boiled neighbors wished 
on you,” he said with another smile. 

Under the spell of his smile and his eyes, An- 
nalee forgot the hints she had heard about this 
man. He was looking at her queerly now— 
questioningly, she thought, with just a trace of 
amusement—and he had, somehow, the bearing of 
one who belonged there. Certainly he had be¬ 
friended them. The carpenters had been about to 
go—thoroughly bluffed or frightened—and Saw- 
telle very evidently was not a match for the ag¬ 
gressive Gruger. Now that she thought of it, she 
didn’t believe for an instant that Gruger had been 
bluffing. Nor had the man before her been bluff¬ 
ing. There was something underneath it all which 
she didn’t understand; some hint of deadly menace. 
Yet Silent Scott looked anything but a desperado 
or a bandit. 

These thoughts finally brought a smile to her 
lips which he applauded with his eyes. 

“You can be sure we wouldn’t have selected any 
one like that—that Gruger, for a neighbor,” she 
told him. 

Scott laughed. It was a good laugh, boyish and 
genuinely mirthful. Then he sobered and stared 
quizzically. 


82 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


“Well, it’s too late to change,” he announced. 
“You’ve made your locations an’ you’ve got to 
stick to ’em now. You’ve as much right here as 
anybody else, I suppose, now that the country’s all 
shot to pieces.” 

“Why—don’t you believe in homesteading?” fal¬ 
tered the girl. 

“I do an’ I don’t,” drawled Scott. “Rut stop¬ 
ping this land rush the way Gruger would try to 
stop it would be like stopping a bunch of stamped¬ 
ing steers by wavin’ a pink handkerchief in front 
of ’em.” 

He was smiling again, nodding confidently to 
Mrs. Rronson, who hung on his words with much 
interest. 

“But I don’t reckon Gruger will try anything 
as raw as he pulled to-day for a while,” he went 
on. “Gruger ain’t got as much sense in some 
ways as he might have. He’s run the C-Bar outfit 
with a high hand so long he’s let it get a hold 
on his brains. They’ll try to get you out an’ tliey’ll 
likely keep others from coming in here—till next 
year, anyway. The locators have steered clear of 
this spot. I see you’ve got some of the springs,” 
he concluded, lifting his brows as though in sur¬ 
prise. 

Sawtelle came over to them, leaving the car¬ 
penters again working feverishly at their task. 

“Pardon,” said the poet with excessive polite¬ 
ness, a twinkle in his eyes. “Mr. Scott this is 


AN ENIGMA 


83 


Miss Annalee Bronson and her mother, from Penn¬ 
sylvania. Ladies, this is Mr. Silent Scott, one of 
our permanent residents who’s growing up—I guess 
—with the country.” 

Scott lifted his hat in brief acknowledgment of 
the formal introduction, glanced suspiciously at 
Sawtelle, and smiled at the girl and her mother. 
The latter nodded at him. 

“It’s right thoughtful of Andy to spare this 
short time from his work,” he said pointedly. 

Sawtelle went back to his labors as Annalee 
laughed. 

Then the girl suddenly became practical. 

“Mr. Silent, you will have to attend to your 
injury,” she said severely. “That hurt hand will 
have to be washed and sterilized—I guess that’s 
what they call it. Anyway, we have some iodine 
and you’d better put some on.” 

Scott frowned at the bandaged hand. 

“ ’Spect you’re right,” he agreed. “I’ll go over 
below the spring an’ tend to it.” 

He walked toward the willows and a few mo¬ 
ments later the girl followed him. She carried 
some clean bandage rolls and a small bottle. She 
found him bathing his hand in the cool water 
trickling down below the spring. 

“Let me see it,” she insisted, stepping to his side. 

He held his hand out for her inspection, looking 
at her closely. 


84 THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 

There was a small puncture in the flesh of the 
palm. 

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “That looks like a bullet 
wound.” 

“You said it, ma’am,” he said, composedly. “Rut 
it don’t amount to anything.” 

“It might—if it wasn’t looked after,” she pointed 
out. “Now, stoop down here.” 

She took the hand, annoyed at the subtle thrill 
she experienced. After washing the wound care¬ 
fully she applied the iodine. She looked up at 
him slyly to see if he would wince, but he was 
staring moodily across the weaving willows. 

She wanted to ask how he had received the 
wound, hut could not bring herself to do so. There 
was a reserve about him that restrained her. Her 
heart beat faster as she thought of the intimation 
of the hotel porter that the officers might be look¬ 
ing for this man. Had he, then, had a skirmish 
with the sheriff and his deputies? Had he been 
wounded in a fight with them, and—she shuddered 
at the thought—had he, perhaps, shot one of the 
officers? Was he a fugitive from the law? 

It was a strange country! 

When she had bandaged the injured hand he 
thanked her softly. 

“Whatever brought you out here to try to farm?” 
he asked in a strange, far-away voice. “Two 
women—you just a girl— alone!” 

“It will restore my mother’s health,” answered 


AN ENIGMA 85 

Annalee. “And we can hire men to work for us. 
That is we can hire them if—if that Gruger-” 

She left the sentence unfinished and saw Scott 
scowl darkly. 

“Jake Gruger will leave you alone,” he said 
bluntly. 

“But, Mr. Scott,” she said quickly, “you must 
not get into any—any trouble on our account. I—* 
I didn’t quite understand what was beneath the 
surface in what happened this afternoon, but I’m 
sure there was big trouble in the balance. We 
—we wouldn’t want any trouble to come about 
just because we came out here to live. We—oh, 
I didn’t dream it would be anything like this!” 

The dying sun turned her hair a rich bronze— 
almost red. 

Silent Scott raised a hand as if he would touch 
her hair and suddenly desisted. 

“Trouble an’ this country go hand in hand,” he 
told her seriously. “Seems like it wouldn’t be 
what it is if there wasn’t any trouble. You’ve 
got to expect it. But you ain’t got the kind of 
trouble cornin’ to you that Gruger’s try in’ to hand 
you, and you won’t get it—if I’m around.” 

Annalee knew what the man had said was not 
intended in a boasting vein. She looked at him 
hopefully; then lowered her gaze as he met her 
eyes. 

Why was he so anxious to help them? Why did 
he look at her that way? 



86 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


Suddenly she blushed. An instant later she 
stamped her foot with irritation. 

“Well, trouble or no trouble, we’re here to stay,” 
she said defiantly; “whether you’re around or not.” 

She regretted it a moment after she had said 
it. Rut he did not resent it. 

“That’s the spirit, Miss Rronson,” he said quietly. 
“An’ I don’t reckon that C-Rar outfit would pull 
anything rough on you or your mother. They’ll 
try to take it out of your men—the men you hire 
to help you work your land. An’ they’ll probably 
give it up as a bad job when they see they can’t 
drive you out.” 

“Oh, I hope so,” said the girl impetuously. 
“Now I’ll have to help mother get supper for the 
men. You’ll stay, won’t you, Mr. Scott?” 

“There wouldn’t be a chance to rope me an’ drag 
me away from a meal a woman had cooked to¬ 
night,” he answered laughingly, following her to¬ 
ward the tent where her mother already had a 
fire in the stove and supper under way. 

She watched him with surreptitious glances as he 
looked after his horse. 

“What’s 'his name?” she asked as Scott came 
back from tying the big, black gelding where the 
feed was particularly good below the spring. 

“Nightmare,” replied Scott with a grin. 

Annalee saw the horse raise his splendid head 
and look at his master as he heard the name 
spoken. 


AN ENIGMA 87 

“Nightmare!” the girl said, astonished and 
amused. 

“Yes,” returned Scott. “I named him that be¬ 
cause he’s given more than one party a nightmare 
tryin’ to catch up with me.” 

“Oh,” said Annalee. “Oh—I see.” 

It didn’t sound particularly encouraging. Why 
should persons be trying to catch up with him? 
It was the most puzzling thing that had ever 
come to the girl’s attention. And what a situation! 
Here was a man of mystery who might be an out¬ 
law protecting her and her mother! If it became 
generally known—if what she could not help but 
surmise were true—would it be considered ethical 
on her part? 

In the end, Annalee gave it up and accepted the 
situation for what it was. They sat down to 
supper with the sunset flinging its crimson ban¬ 
ners athwart the western sky. They ate silently, 
the girl’s attempts to start conversation proving 
futile. Mrs. Bronson was content to study the 
features of Silent Scott. She did not know just 
why he inspired in her a feeling of security. 

The men returned to work after supper and 
kept at their tasks until it was dark. Scott had 
taken the slicker roll which had been tied behind 
his saddle and had retired to the other side of the 
“willows about the spring. 

Next morning when the little company rose they 
found that Scott had gone. 


88 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


Annalee was surprised. He had virtually 
promised to remain to see that Gruger did not 
again interfere with the men who were building 
the two small houses. They showed nervousness 
as the result of his absence, but evidently did not 
wish to further show the white feather before the 
two women, so went to work after breakfast. 

The girl asked Sawtelle what he thought of it all. 

The poet’s answer was not satisfactory. He 
merely shrugged and said, “I dunno. Maybe he 
thinks Gruger’s scared away.” 

“But why—how did he scare Gruger away?” 
Annalee persisted. 

Sawtelle gazed at her speculatively before he 
replied. 

“Silent Scott,” he said slowly, “is one of the 
fastest, most accomplished experts that ever fanned 
the hammer of a six-gun.” 


CHAPTER IX 

A NEW MOVE 

IT was not hard for Annalee to associate Saw- 
* telle’s statement, that Silent Scott was a formi¬ 
dable gunman, with the remarks the hotel porter 
had made about Jake Gruger’s draw. It was ap¬ 
parent that both these men were skilled with their 
weapons; that they did not regard the use of them 
in the same light in which men in the East held 
such matters. She thought she now understood 
what the attitude of the two men sitting their 
horses, looking steadily into each other’s eyes, hands 
above their pistols, had portended. Instinctively 
she shuddered at the recollection. 

She walked over to where Sawtelle was work¬ 
ing. “Mr. Sawtelle,” she said coolly, “I believe 
you said you were going into town again late to¬ 
day to 'bring out the balance of our shipment to¬ 
night.” 

The poet nodded in affirmation. “I’d rather 
make the trip when it’s cool,” he said. “Won’t 
be so hard on the horses—or me.” 

“Very well, Mr. Sawtelle-” 

“Why not make it ‘Andy?’ ” he broke in com- 
plainingly. 

“All right, Andy, then,” the girl acquiesced. 



90 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


“I’ll give you some money, Andy, and I wish you 
would buy me a good revolver and a supply of 
ammunition.” 

The poet’s eyes started. “A gun—ma’am?” he 
questioned. “You want a gun?” 

“Certainly,” said Annalee crisply. “If men are 
to come around my place brandishing such wea¬ 
pons, I think it would be well for me to take 
steps to protect myself. Only I will not threaten— 
I’ll shoot!” 

She left him gasping; but the incident seemed 
to imbue the carpenters with renewed courage, and 
much of their joviality returned. 

The work of putting up the framework of the 
houses progressed rapidly, and by afternoon the 
carpenters were nailing on the sheeting. There 
was no sign of movement in the direction of the 
Capron Ranch in the south, and no indication that 
Silent Scott was in the vicinity. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if it was a put-up job 
between that Gruger and Silent Scott,” Annalee 
told her mother, tossing her head. “They can’t 
scare me with their wild antics. I believe the 
people who live here are having a lot of fun with 
the newcomers. Well, here’s one they won’t have 
much more fun with.” 

Mrs. Rronson shook her head in indecision. “I 
don’t know, deary. But I do know that I’ve had 
so many shocks in the last few days that I don’t 
seem to have any nerveis left.” 


A NEW MOVE 


91 


“Fine, mumsy!” cried the girl with a cheering 
laugh. “Now you’re talking like a real pioneer. 
Anyway, there’s no use worrying.” 

She remembered afterward that she had for¬ 
gotten the matter of Silent Scott’s wound. Well, 
perhaps he had received that in a fight with the 
authorities. On the other hand, it might have been 
the result of an accident. Men fooling with pistols 
had been known to shoot themselves in the hand— 
and the head, for that matter. In any event, there 
remained the fact that Scott had disappeared and 
Gruger was keeping out of sight. 

Sawtelle left for town in midafternoon, and the 
carpenters kept hard at work, rushing the houses 
to completion. 

“You’ll have at least one roof to sleep under to¬ 
morrow night,” the boss carpenter promised. 

The poet returned around midnight when the 
others were asleep. In the morning his load was 
taken off and work resumed on the building. That 
night one of the houses was indeed virtually com¬ 
pleted, and Annalee and her mother moved in. 

Two more peaceful days passed and the houses 
were finished. 

Incidentally, the hammering of the artisans was 
punctuated at certain intervals by the report of a 
gun. Annalee was beginning to practice with the 
big weapon Sawtelle had brought her from town. 
She hadn’t succeeded in hitting anything she aimed 
at, but, as she told her mother, the mere firing 


92 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


of the gun was a great moral victory. All this 
was done against Mrs. Bronson’s wishes; for the 
girl’s mother urged her not to touch “that horrible 
thing.” 

“Fve at least got to know how to make it go 
off,” had been the girl’s spirited defense. 

On the sixth day after their arrival the car¬ 
penters gathered up their tools and Sawtelle started 
with them to town, taking with him a long list of 
supplies to bring back. Annalee had paid the 
men and the lumber concern and had sent a draft 
to be deposited in the State Bank of Brant. 

When the spring wagon had rolled away, the 
girl and her mother were alone for the first time 
in their houses. Carpets had been laid and furni¬ 
ture moved in, and now they enthusiastically set 
about the task of putting on the finishing touches 
which make an abode for women. 

They were interrupted late in the afternoon by 
the thundering approach of a horseman. 

They were in Annalee’s house at the time, and 
the girl hurried to the door to see a large, florid¬ 
faced man carefully lowering himself from the 
saddle. 

When he was on solid ground he removed his 
big hat and wiped his forehead with a faded red 
bandanna. He looked at her shrewdly from small, 
gray eyes set above a large nose. A gold chain of 
large, heavy links sprawled across his vest, ac¬ 
centuating his bulk. 


A NEW MOVE 


93 


“You Miss Bronson?” he asked in a gruff voice. 

“I am,” smilingly replied the girl. “And this is 
my mother.” Mrs. Bronson had stepped behind her 
daughter. 

“Glad to meet you,” said the stranger, with a 
jerky how. 

“I’m Capron,” he announced, walking toward 
them. 

“Won’t you come in?” the girl invited sweetly. 

“Well—yes,” said the rancher. 

He looked about with a frown before he entered 
the little house. He settled his ponderous weight 
in the one rocking chair in the small combination 
kitchen and living room, and stared keenly under 
bushy brows at Mrs. Bronson and Annalee. 

“No place for you women,” he said presently. 
“I don’t know what the government is thinking of!” 

“We thought it was rather pleasant, Mr. Capron,” 
said Annalee cheerfully. “Don’t those white cur¬ 
tains look nice? We brought all these things all 
the way from Pennsylvania.” 

“They should have stayed there!” he grumbled. 
“I was down in Great Falls and didn’t know what 
was going on up here, or I could have saved you 
women a lot of trouble.” 

The girl looked surprised; then she smiled. “If 
you mean you would have forbidden your man 
Gruger coming up here, you needn’t apologize,” 
she said. “He did act rather foolish; but he merely 


94 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


amused us. I suspect he thought he was going 
to scare us with his bad-man bluff, but he didn’t.” 

Capron’s eyes were popping by the time she fin¬ 
ished. “Did you think he was bluffing?” he asked 
incredulously. 

“It would seem so, Mr. Capron, in view of the 
fact that he had no legal right to do what he 
tried to do,” replied Annalee coolly. “Three hun¬ 
dred and twenty acres of this land in here, Mr. 
Capron, is now our property, and we will not wel¬ 
come such boisterous trespassers!” 

The rancher’s look indicated that he had received 
another shock. He gulped and shook a thick fore¬ 
finger at the girl. 

“Young lady, don’t you ever get it into your 
head that Jake Gruger is bluffing,” he said sternly. 
“Jake Gruger don’t know what a bluff is. And 
don’t forget that I’m not always around to see 
what Jake does. He’s been my foreman for years, 
and he’s been a good one. He worked cows for 
me in this country before the government ever 
thought of surveying it, let alone bringing folks in 
by telling ’em they could farm here. Farm!” 
Capron indulged in a sneer. 

“Why, you couldn’t farm this in a million years! 
It’s all we can do to get an oat crop in the bot¬ 
toms. This is cattle country, young lady, and it’ll 
always be cattle country. In five years every fence 
the homesteaders put up will be buried in tumble¬ 
weeds !” 


A NEW MOVE 


95 


He wiped his brow and face after the exertion 
of his speech. The girls face was pale, and Mrs. 
Bronson again looked worried. 

“But it ain’t your fault,” Capron hastened to 
say. “I don’t blame you none. You took the 
literature and the pictures for granted and came 
out here thinking that all you had to do was file 
on the free land and let a farm grow. Free land! 
Do you know what you’ve got to do? You’ve got 
to fence, and dig a well—that spring dries up in 
the summer, or I’d have located it long ago. You’ve 
got to plow and harrow and summer fallow and 
all that. And you won’t get a crop unless you 
have rain, and we don’t get rain here. Why, it’s 
the first of June now, and the rain should be 
starting. Do you see it? Not a drop. Not a drop! 
And the hot winds will be here in a fortnight!” 

“Mr. Capron, I can’t help thinking that you are 
trying to discourage us for reasons of your own, 
said the girl coldly. 

“Discourage you? Limping coyotes, girl, if I 
can discourage you, I’ll be doing you a favor. 
Wait till you’ve seen the hot winds. This green 
grass will be yellow in less’n a week! If that 11 
happen to hardy grass—native grass—what 11 hap¬ 
pen to grain? If you got one crop every five 
years you’d be doing well. We have about one 
wet year in five. I know. I’ve had to figure on 
feed for my stock for more years than you’ve lived. 


96 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


No, the best thing you can do is give it up for 
a bad job and let it go at that.” 

“We can’t do that, Mr. Capron,” said Annalee 
decisively. 

“I understand,” he said. “You’re in for this 
lumber and carpenter work, and your fare and 
one thing and another, but maybe we can smooth 
that out.” 

“I don’t believe I understand you, Mr. Capron.” 

“Well, how much do you want to get out of 
here?” asked the rancher bluntly. 

The girl’s face flamed, and she rose from her 
chair. 

“You either misunderstood me, or you are pur¬ 
posely insulting, Mr. Capron. We are not asking 
you for anything.” 

“Don’t be foolish,” growlingly replied Capron. 
“Of course you expect something back for what 
you’ve spent. And I’m willing to pay you because 
I don’t want you in here setting an example for 
other poor, deluded Easterners. If we can keep 
the homsteaders out of here till they’ve given 
this thing a try-out and found out what they’re 
up against, I can keep this range.” 

It was Mrs. Bronson who now spoke in a cool, 
cultivated voice. “We had expected, when we came 
West, Mr. Capron, to find some neighbors who 
would reflect the spirit of hospitality which vis¬ 
itors to the East from this part of the country 
have flaunted. If we can’t have neighbors who are 


A NEW MOVE 


97 


ladies and gentlemen, we can, at least, have the 
privilege of declining their acquaintance. I do 
not believe the tenor of your remarks is such as 
to indicate that you belong in the first classifica¬ 
tion,” she concluded acidly. 

Both Capron and the girl stared at her. It 
was evident that Mrs. Bronson was genuinely an¬ 
noyed. 

Capron started to speak, then rose with a red 
face. “You can hint that I’m not a gentleman, 
ma’am, but before you’re through with this busi¬ 
ness you’ll find out that what I’ve told you is 
straight goods, and that I was doing the square 
thing in offering to buy you out. I’ve made you 
a legitimate proposition. I’ll give you a month to 
think it over.” 

“We will hardly require that length of time, 
Mr. Capron,” said Mrs. Bronson with great dignity. 
“I believe my daughter has given you your answer.” 

“Great Scott!” exclaimed Capron. “Do you two 
women think you can make a farm out of this 
pin-head parcel of land by yourselves? I own 
forty thousand acres, and I wouldn’t think of try¬ 
ing to farm it even with all the help I’ve got!” 

“I can think of no reason why we should 
discuss our affairs with you,” replied Mrs. Bron¬ 
son in a precise voice. 

Capron stared about the room with a frown. 
Suddenly he started. His gaze had fallen on the 


98 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


gun which Annalee had left upon the table with 
a box of cartridges beside it. 

“Well, I’ll be-” 

He slammed his hat on his head and started 
for the door. He paused on the threshold and 
regarded them belligerently. 

“Whether you want to or not, think over what 
I’ve said. Think it over till the first of July, 
anyway. By that time you’ll know something 
of what the hot winds are and what chance you’ve 
got of raising crops in here.” 

“By that time we’ll have our fence up and some 
land plowed,” Annalee asserted. 

“Fences!” Capron’s face purpled. “You don’t 
need fences in here,” he stormed. “There isn’t 
going to be any stock up here this season—at 
least, it wasn’t my intention to run any up here. 
It’d look bad for a fence to go up.” 

“But it would keep the stock out if you should 
decide to run some up this way,” said the girl 
with a knowing smile. “We don’t intend to take 
any chances, Mr. Capron.” 

The rancher stamped out upon the little porch 
and down the two steps. “Remember,” he said 
loudly, reaching for the reins dangling from his 
horse’s bridle; “remember I’m not entirely re¬ 
sponsible for Jake Gruger.” 

“If that’s a threat, Mr. Capron, you can tell 
Jake Gruger he will be dealt with according to 



A NEW MOVE 


99 


law if he comes here again,” called the girl as 
the rancher swung heavily into the saddle. 

Capron glared at them angrily. “That’ll scare 
Jake, I reckon,” he said sarcastically as he rode 
away. 

Annalee’s laugh carried to his ears. 

“Oh, mother!” she cried, throwing her arms about 
the older woman’s neck. “You told him. Good 
for you, mumsy; you’re getting to be your old 
self again. It’s all a bluff to frighten us away. 
What is it they say when a bluff is stopped—oh! 
We called their bluff, mumsy; and now I’ll bet 
they’ll be good and leave us alone.” 

But if the girl and her mother could have seen 
the grim look on the rancher’s face, and the hard 
quality of his scowling gaze as he rode south¬ 
ward toward his own domain, they might not have 
felt so confident. 


CHAPTER X 


PRAIRIE LOGIC 

A NDY returned that night after the women had 
** gone to bed. He did not disturb them, and 
in the morning when they told him of Capron’s 
visit, he shook his head dubiously. He quickly 
changed the subject and talked of the stirring 
scenes in town. Brant was crowded with home¬ 
steaders and was enjoying a run of prosperity 
such as it never before had experienced. A big 
Fourth-of-July celebration was planned. 

But Annalee and Mrs. Bronson were more inter¬ 
ested in affairs nearer home. When the girl told 
him they were convinced that Capron and Gruger 
were trying to bluff them out, he pursed his lips 
and recited: 

“ ’Tis when it’s pleasant, calm, and warm 
That one should look for signs of storm.” 

“Now what does that mean?” asked Annalee with 
a trace of irritation. 

“That’s prairie logic,” Sawtelle replied succintly; 
“and it hasn’t anything to do with the weather. 
Did you think Silent Scott was bluffing, too?” 

“I have an idea that the heroics we’ve been 


PRAIRIE LOGIC 101 

treated to in the past few days were engineered 
for a purpose,” said the girl in a vexed voice. 

“I don’t think any of the parties concerned know 
the meaning of that word ‘heroics’—and things 
are not so often engineered in this country,” said 
the poet slowly. “Things just naturally happen 
here. I wouldn’t say that, Miss Rronson. Silent 
is close-mouthed and doesn’t try to set right a 
lot of things he’s blamed for. He isn’t like that 
fellow Lummox, who was with Gruger and Myrle 
Capron up here that day. ’Member the fellow 
with the snapping, black eyes and the long, black 
mustaches? He’s a boaster. Gruger likes to have 
tough hombres in his outfit,” said Sawtelle in mat¬ 
ter-of-fact tones. “Lummox is not only a gunman 
—he’s a killer.” 

“A—killer?” gasped out the girl. 

“With half a dozen notches on his gun butt,” 
Sawtelle affirmed. 

Annalee rose from the table. “Now I am con¬ 
vinced that a lot of this talk about your men out 
here is for our benefit,” she said severely. “Please 
do not speak again of gunmen, Andy Sawtelle.” 

The poet shrugged and silently turned his whole 
attention to his breakfast. 

After the meal he unloaded the supplies. Then 
he came to the door of Annalee’s house and bowed. 

“I’ll take the horses back this morning, if you 
don’t need anything else hauled, and if you should 


102 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


need me again, send word and I’ll be glad to 
come out.” 

“Why, Andy!” exclaimed the girl aghast. 
“You’re not going to leave us. I had counted on 
you staying with us right along. We—we’ve got 
to have help—some one we can depend upon. 
Why, there’s the fence—and the plowing!” 

Andy Sawtelle looked startled. “You—ah—ex¬ 
pected me to work here all summer?” he faltered. 

“Of course—didn’t we, mother? Of course we 
did, Andy; and we will pay you good wages.” 

For a moment the poet appeared crestfallen. 
Finally, he smiled wryly, “Gruger was right,” he 
observed. “I’m a rhyming prairie tramp. I never 
saw much in work, and you’ve got me locoed. 
I have to tell you, miss, that I don’t know any 
more about farming than I know about flying an 
airplane, which is much—not enough to speak of.” 

Annalee laughed. “Rut you can learn,” she said 
enthusiastically. “You will have to have a man 
to help you, and you can hire a man who does 
know. I make you our foreman, Andy. We’ll 
call this the—the—Twin R Ranch! There’s two 
of us, mother and I; we have two homesteads, 
and our last name begins with R. Won’t you take 
the position as foreman of the Twin B, Andy?” 

Sawtelle frowned darkly and compressed his lips 
to suppress the smile which hovered on them. Then 
he sighed as if in resignation. 

“I can try it,” he said dubiously. “But I’m 


PRAIRIE LOGIC 


103 


not promising anything. And there’s something 
you maybe haven’t thought of, Miss Bronson. 
This fencing and plowing and one thing and an¬ 
other—how you going to do it without horses?” 

“That’s right,” said the girl thoughtfully. 
“Well, Andy, I guess you will have to buy us a 
team and—and what we need.” 

Sawtelle threw up his hands. “Responsibility!” 
he exclaimed with an exaggerated gesture. “Some¬ 
thing I have avoided all my life! And now I’ve 
got to swim in it!” He looked at Annalee and 
Mrs. Bronson reproachfully. “I’m going to town 
and hire a good Irishman!” he announced de¬ 
cisively. 

Sawtelle was as good as his word. At the end 
of a week, during which time there were no 
further visits from Capron or any one south of 
the line of trees, the poet came back from town 
driving the team he had purchased for the Bron¬ 
sons, with a man sitting in the front seat of the 
new Bronson wagon. 

“New hand,” he announced laconically. 

“Oh!” exclaimed Annalee, looking at the short, 
red-faced man with the upturned nose and the 
twinkling blue eyes. 

“What—what is your name?” 

“Pat,” replied the grinning employee. “Pat Mc¬ 
Carthy.” 

“Well, Mr. McCarthy, we’re glad to have you 
with us. This is my mother, Mrs. Bronson. We’re 


104 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


—we’re part Irish ourselves. Did you bring your 
things with you?” 

Pat jerked a thumb toward a bundle which 
Sawtelle had dropped from the wagon. 

“Well, your quarters will be in the tent with 
Andy,” said the girl, concealing her surprise at 
the small amount of the new hand’s belongings. 
“Later, when the barn is finished, and the fenc¬ 
ing and plowing done, we will build a house for 
our men; but just now-” 

“Tent suits me,” said Pat shortly. “Cool an’ 
airy—good place in hot weather. I’ll be puttin’ 
me things away, if it’s all the same with you.” 

Mrs. Rronson sniffed in disapproval at the odor 
of the man’s pipe. 

“A bad smelling pipe means a good working man, 
mother,” the girl said laughingly. “Something tells 
me Pat is competent.” 

In the three weeks that followed, the small barn 
was finished, Sawtelle, hauling the lumber from 
town; a plow, harrow, and seeder were purchased 
and brought to the Twin B; wire for the fence 
was obtained, but work on the fence could not be 
started as posts were not available. The lumber 
company expected posts any day, the manager had 
explained. 

Pat began plowing, something which Andy Saw¬ 
telle said he could not and would not do. 

The homesteads began to take on the look of a 
regular farm. But Capron’s prediction that it would 



PRAIRIE LOGIC 


105 


be a dry season proved true. Little rain fell— 
only an occasional shower. The hot winds came 
and the green of the plains turned to gold, and 
dust clouds swirled upon the horizons. No other 
homesteaders located in the fertile district north of 
the river. This was a significant fact and caused 
Annalee to ponder. 

There was no further molestation from the 
Capron outfit. 

“Didn’t I tell you it was all a bluff, mother?” 
the girl pointed out. 

But even as she said this, she marveled that 
none had come to file on the land near them. In 
the end she assumed that Gruger had succeeded 
in bluffing out others who had contemplated locat¬ 
ing there. 

The thing, however, that bothered Annalee and 
her mother the most, as time went on, was the 
lack of women neighbors, or even casual acquaint¬ 
ances. 

“Do you realize, mother, that in the five weeks 
or so that we’ve been here we haven’t seen another 
woman?” said the girl one night after supper. 

Mrs. Bronson nodded with a sigh. “It is indeed 
a lonesome country,” she complained. 

“It wouldn’t be if that Capron crowd were shown 
a few things and others would come in here and 
locate,” said the girl with spirit. “I’ll tell you, 
mumsy, we’ll go in to Brant for the Fourth-of- 
July celebration. It’s only about a week away. 


106 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


Maybe we can induce' somebody to come out here 
and locate. It ought to reassure them to know 
that we’re here and doing things.” 

Sawtelle appeared both pleased and dubious when 
he heard of the plan to go into town on the Fourth. 

“We’ll leave Pat here to watch the place,” he 
decided. 

“We will not!” protested Pat. “There’s two days 
I aim to be in town; one’s Christmas an’ the other’s 
the Fourth of July. An’ I’ll be takin’ me wages 
to date along with me in case of emergency, if 
you don’t mind, ma’am.” 

“You can have them,” said the girl. “We will 
have the horses with us, Andy, and I don’t believe 
it will be necessary for anybody to stay and watch 
the place. We’re all entitled to a holiday.” 

“We ought to go in on the night of the third to 
get the benefit of everything,” Pat suggested. 

Andy Sawtelle was the only one who didn’t 
laugh. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE COWARD 


RUGER and his man Lummox rode at a jog 



toward town. The hot, noonday sun heat down 
upon them, and the dust rose in an enveloping fog. 

“Goin’ to be a hot Fourth,” Lummox commented, 
biting at the ends of his drooping mustaches. His 
small, beady eyes appeared to be fixed on the road 
ahead, but he was watching the foreman furtively. 

“Should be hot,” Gruger replied savagely. “Al- 
lers was hot. Supose these hairbrained, would-be 
farmers will be looking for showers. Fat chance!” 
He laughed harshly. 

“How do you suppose them two came to locate 
back there north of the river?” said Lummox with 
a jerk of a thumb over his shoulder. 

“Some fool locator’s doings,” returned Gruger. 
“I aim to find out who sent ’em out there.” 

Lummox seemed smiling to himself. He cleared 
his throat several times. “I been thinking, Jake, 
that this country is did for,” he said finally, draw¬ 
ing a plug of tdbacco from his pocket. “I been 
wonderin’ if it wouldn’t be a good thing for me 
to slope out of here—go somewheres, Jake—some¬ 
where s where they’s still something doin’, you 
might say. I hear there’s such a place left, Jake?” 


108 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


“Where you mean?” asked Jake curiously. 

“Mexico,” replied Lummox reverently. 

Gruger started. He had often heard the rumor 
—never voiced in its subject’s presence—that Lum¬ 
mox had originally come out of Mexico and had 
drifted north when the trail herds were being driven 
from Texas to Montana. 

“I didn’t think any man would figure on goin’ 
that far unless he had a good reason for making 
the trip,” the foreman observed with a keen glance 
at the man riding beside him. 

Lummox did not turn to look at him, nor reply. 

A sudden alertness seemed to have seized upon 
Gruger, however. 

“How soon had you thought of goin’?” he asked, 
almost eagerly. 

“I hadn’t figured on quittin’ you till we’d shipped 
this fall,” said Lummox. “I reckon you savvy I’m 
not plumb cheerful at leavin’ your outfit, Jake. 
I’ve done the best I could; but, with these home¬ 
steaders flockin’ in an’ moralizing, the crust’s goin’ 
to begin to get thin.” 

Gruger nodded and pulled his hat closer down 
over his eyes. Lummox had done his best. Gruger 
remembered gratefully several deals the law might 
not have looked upon with favor which Lummox 
had helped him put over. He remembered, too, 
the man’s quick temper and his quicker gun hand. 

During the remainder of the distance into town 
there was silence between the pair. 


THE COWARD 


109 


Through habit they galloped wildly into town, 
down the short, new extension of Main Street— 
called Central Avenue after the principal thorough¬ 
fare in Great Falls—over the railroad tracks into 
what was the old cow town. 

They put up their horses at a livery, and Gruger 
took leave of Lummox, promising to meet him in 
the Green Front resort in the old town at supper 
time. 

A breeze had sprung up in the late afternoon, 
fanning the town with its cooling breath, as Jake 
Gruger walked swiftly across the tracks into the 
modern section of Brant. 

The street was crowded, aflame with the national 
colors, aflutter with bunting and flags. Gruger 
gazed out of scowling eyes beneath the brim of his 
hat and jostled rudely out of his path those who 
got in his way. When he reached a small, white 
building near the eastern end of the street, he 
paused and looked through the window past the 
gilt sign. He grunted with satisfaction. Then he 
threw open the door and entered a small office. 

The man at the desk swung around and stared 
at the intruder with popping eyes. It was fully a 
minute before he recovered sufficiently to execute 
a weak motion toward a chair. 

Gruger ignored the invitation and stepped quickly 
to the side of the desk. “Neeland, who located 
the Bronsons out our way?” he demanded in a 
vicious voice. 


110 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


“Why—why—sit down, Mr. Gruger,” stammered 
the locator with an attempt to smile. 

“I didn’t come in here to sit down an’ have any 
sociable chat,” shot out Gruger. “I asked you a 
question, an’ I expect you to answer it.” 

“But—I—the Bronsons?” Neeland wiped his 
forehead. 

“Don’t stall,” snapped the foreman. “An’ if you 
know me an’ know what’s good for you, Neeland, 
don’t lie!” 

The locator looked hopefully toward the closed 
door and again gazed apprehensively at his for¬ 
midable visitor. 

“Why do you think 1 know who locates every¬ 
body that comes here for a homestead?” he evaded. 
“There’s half a dozen locators in this town-” 

“An’ you do more business than all of ’em put 
together,” thundered Gruger, smashing his fist down 
upon the desk with tremendous force. “W'hat’s 
more, you keep track of things. You know, Nee¬ 
land, an’ if you don’t want me to stampede in 
your direction, you’ll start talkin’ an’ talkin’ straight 
pronto—here an’ now.” 

Neeland wet his lips with a dry tongue. “Well, 
you can sit down and be less—less antagonistic— 
while you’re getting your information, can’t you?” 
he asked plaintively. “There’s more to this than 
you suspect, Gruger-■” 

“An’ more than you suspect, Neeland. Now bust 
out with it. Who located the Bronsons?” 




THE COWARD 


111 


“I—I located them—now wait a minute, Gruger! 
Wait a minute!” Neeland’s voice had risen to a 
scream. “I didn’t think you folks would object to 
women-” 

“They’re land grabbers, ain’t they?” roared the 
infuriated foreman. “They’re settin’ an example 
for others out there, ain’t they? They’ve built two 
shacks, an’ a barn, an’ they’re plowin’, ain’t they?” 

In his rage his huge hands seemed about to 
close on the locator’s throat. 

“But there’s a mistake!” exclaimed Neeland, push¬ 
ing his chair back against the wall in the corner 
where the desk was situated. “I tell you, there’s 
a mistake. I didn’t know they were going out 
there to live right away!” 

Gruger sneered in contempt. “Oh, you didn’t 
know that?” he ridiculed. “You thought you’d 
get their money while Capron an’ me were away, 
an’ get some more from somebody else the next 
time we went away, an’ then light out by time 
they came to live on the places. I believe I’ll 
wring your neck, Neeland!” 

The locator was trembling. Cold perspiration 
stood out on his forehead in glistening beads. His 
breath was labored. 

“There’s another mistake, Gruger,” he wheezed, 
almost eagerly. “I located Miss Bronson on the 
wrong quarter section accordin’ to the way they’ve 
built their houses. I didn’t exactly do it intentional, 
you understand, but the girl is on the wrong quarter. 



112 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


They’ve got changed around, from what I hear 
from Andy Sawtelle, and I—I haven’t said any¬ 
thing about it to ’em yet.” 

Gruger stepped back, his eyes widening. Then he 
leaped at Neeland and grasped him by the throat. 

“Are you lying?” he asked through his teeth. 
“If you’re lying, Neeland, I’ll shake your neck till 
you die like a rat!” 

“True, s’help me,” Neeland managed to gasp out. 
“They’re changed around.” He could hardly speak. 

Gruger shut off the locator’s wind for a mo¬ 
ment, then released him and stepped back, grin¬ 
ning at the blue marks left by his lingers on the 
man’s throat. 

“Then they’re each livin’ on the wrong land?” 
he demanded with a fierce glare. 

Neeland nodded weakly, feeling his throat, terror 
showing in his eyes. 

Gruger dropped into a chair and pulled it close 
to the locator. 

“You keep what you know to yourself, see?” 
he said. “Don’t tell that fool poet, don’t tell the 
Bronsons, don’t tell anybody —you hear me? Do 
you think you can keep your mouth shut to save 
your neck?” 

Neeland was not capable of resistance even if 
he had had any such remote idea. He wanted to be 
rid of the menace Gruger so potentially repre¬ 
sented. Inwardly he was thanking his stars that 
an error had been made on the Bronson place! 


THE COWARD 113 

“I’ll keep mum,” he promised with a ghost of 
a smile. 

Gruger rose and strode to the door. As he 
opened it he turned. His eyes burned with con¬ 
tempt and subdued rage. 

“You better!” he cautioned grimly. Then he 
went out. 

Neeland shivered in his chair as he saw the big 
man pass before the window on his way down 
the street. 

Gruger walked fast, shoving people right and 
left in the failing light of the sunset. His face 
was a queer mixture of grim determination and 
elation. He was evidently pleased with the in¬ 
formation he had forced out of Neeland, and it 
was apparent that he was working out a plan. So 
busy was he with his thoughts that he did not 
acknowledge the occasional greetings which were 
spoken to him, mostly by men garbed similarly 
to himself. 

He glanced casually across the street as he passed 
opposite the hotel and—stopped dead in his tracks. 
He saw Silent Scott pushing his way through the 
throng in front of the Thompson House. 

As Scott disappeared and the crowd closed in, 
Gruger walked on. The only change in his ex¬ 
pression had been the narrowing of the lids over 
his eyes. He crossed the railroad track into the 
old town and hurried toward the Green Front. 


CHAPTER XII 


THREE MEETINGS 

O N the day before the Fourth, Annalee accepted 
Pat’s repeated suggestion that they go to town 
on the eve of the celebration and announced that 
they would start for Brant late in the afternoon. 

Pat accepted the news and his wages with un¬ 
denied cheerfulness; but Sawtelle’s face was grave 
as he took the check Annalee handed him in pay¬ 
ment for his services. 

“Of course you know, Andy, that what you have 
done for us, and your courtesy and kindness from 
the time of our arrival out here, cannot be paid for 
in mere money,” said the girl gratefully; “and we 
know you were not thinking of wages when you 
offered to come out here with us after that dray¬ 
man, whoever he was, showed he was afraid to 
come.” 

“I wasn’t thinking of work, either,” said Saw- 
telle whimsically. 

“Andy, don’t you like to work?” asked Annalee. 
“Tell me honestly now.” 

For reply Andy attempted to glare at her. “This 
ain’t been so much work as it has been a novel 
experience.” 

Which was all she could get out of him on that 
subject. 


THREE MEETINGS 


115 


They drove to town during the sunset and the 
long twilight. The drive was a revelation to the 
two women. They had never seen the land so 
lovely. The plain was like cloth-of-gold under the 
crimson skies. A vagrant breeze whispered in the 
waving grasses. Then, as the crimson banners of 
the sunset faded to amethyst and blue, streaked 
with silver, the purple haze of the soft twilight 
draped itself over the prairies, leaving only the 
painted peaks uplifted above its curtain in the 
west. 

Night was gathering as they drove slowly into 
town. 

The scene which greeted their eyes caused them 
to thrill with excited wonder. The street was 
thronged with holiday crowds. Cow-punchers were 
there decked out in their festive regalia—gay col¬ 
ored shirts and scarfs of purple, pink, and yel¬ 
low; great, high, broad brimmed hats, some black 
with red binding and bands, some gray, some saf¬ 
fron colored, some brown; trousers tucked into 
shining riding boots; belts and holsters embellished 
with gleaming silver ornaments; many ivory-handled 
guns as further adornment, and some gauntlets 
trimmed with silver. 

Homesteaders from the East, the Middle West, the 
Palouse country of Washington, wore their blue- 
serge Sunday best and flaunted neckties in flaming 
colors. 

Gay youths sported mail-order suits of natty trim* 


116 THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 

belted and buckled in the most extravagant styles 
of the day. 

There were even a few straw hats—a decided 
rarity in a country which had always favored de¬ 
pendable felt in its headgear. 

Girls in white, with flowing sashes of pink and 
blue; portly dames, red-faced from wind and sun, 
in the proverbial black silk; stockmen showing 
great expanse of vest front adorned with heavy, 
gold watch chains; children trying to pattern after 
their elders—more quiet and subdued, too, it 
seemed to the Bronsons, than children of the cities. 

Scores of horses were tied to the hitching rails, 
dozens of dusty, rust-streaked automobiles of small 
caliber were parked in the vacant lots; dogs were 
everywhere. 

Bunting was stretched between the buildings 
across the street, above the heads of the merry¬ 
makers; it streamed in the breeze from the posts, 
porch roofs, and store fronts; small fir trees were 
tied to posts and nailed to the corners of buildings 
here and there, adding a touch of vivid green to 
the more brilliant hues of the decorations; flags 
fluttered and waved from every vantage point. 

A band, imported from the Falls, was playing 
a stirring march. Shouts, laughter, voices raised 
in song were heard at intervals above the music 
of the brass instruments and the booming of the 
big drum, and in the occasional lulls came the 
tinkling of music boxes, and the screeching of 


THREE MEETINGS 


117 


phonographs. Now and then all this medley of 
sound was punctuated by the sharp staccato of a 
six-shooter emptying its load of blank cartridges or 
hurling its leaden messengers harmlessly toward 
the star-splashed sky. 

Annalee and her mother were assisted from the 
spring wagon at the Thompson House by Sawtelle, 
while Pat carried their baggage inside. Then the 
two men went to put up the team and the women 
approached the desk. 

“We’re full to the brim, plumb full,” said the 
clerk; “but I’ll find a room for you, Miss Bronson.” 

And he did. But Annalee and Mrs. Bronson found 
it impossible to stay in their room or on the balcony 
outside the little front parlor on the second floor. 
The spirit of the holiday seized them and they went 
downstairs. 

Almost the first persons they saw in the lobby 
were Myrle Capron and his father. The rancher 
saw them moving away from the foot of the stairs 
and made his way to them immediately. 

“Figured you folks would be in,” he said in a 
more gracious tone than he had used on the oc¬ 
casion of his visit to the homesteads. “I was coming 
up to your place long ’bout the first of the month, 
but I’ve been pretty busy.” 

Mrs. Bronson nodded to him coldly. 

“We’ve been busy, too,” said the girl, with a 
dancing light of devilment in her eyes. “We’ve 
started our plowing, Mr. Capron.” 


118 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


The rancher’s amiable look fled. “What do you 
think you’ll plant up there?” he asked, his curiosity 
getting the better of him momentarily. 

“Winter wheat,” replied Annalee sweetly. “We’re 
plowing deep, so the moisture can be held in the 
ground.” 

“Wheat!” Capron exclaimed. “You couldn’t grow 
wheat on that dry land if you plowed clear through 
to China!” 

“Pat—a man who is working for us—says there 
will be more rain here when the country is farmed,” 
was the girl’s rejoinder. 

“All theory!” Capron exclaimed. “They’ve got 
more theories about farming this land than the 
stargazers have got about Mars or the moon! Don’t 
you think, if wheat would grow here, us old-timers 
would have been planting it long ago?” 

“No, you were not farmers and didn’t wish to 
be,” said the girl with conviction. “You could 
farm now, if you wanted to; there’s nothing to 
stop you.” 

Myrle Capron was grinning at the girl from be¬ 
hind his father’s back. She felt a vague resentment 
at this. 

“Look here,” said Capron gruffly, “you’ve got 
sense, and you’ve got red-headed spunk. I’ll give 
you five thousand dollars to relinquish those home¬ 
steads out there and go somewhere else and file. 
Now don’t get mad and flare up—this is a straight, 
business offer. We’ve got some of our homestead 


THREE MEETINGS 


119 


rights left out on the C-Bar, and we want to locate 
those homesteads and some more around ’em. I’ve 
leased the school sections up there and I want 
enough land to join ’em up so I’ll have some 
range left north of the river. That’s how the 
play lays.” 

Annalee felt that Gapron was speaking the truth, 
and there did appear to be something in what he 
said, and a reason for his wanting the land in 
question. But she shook her head. 

“You forget, Mr. Gapron, that if we relinquish 
our homesteads, especially for a consideration, we 
cannot locate again. We couldn’t very well swear 
that we didn’t receive anything for relinquishing, 
and we cannot afford to lose what we have invested 
out there. There are plenty of other homesteads 
out there, are there not? Why don’t you people 
take up some of those?” 

Capron shook his head impatiently and scowled. 
“You could buy a small, improved farm down to¬ 
ward Great Falls for five thousand,” he pointed out. 
“And you’d have your horses, wagon, and imple¬ 
ments left.” 

But the girl’s decision had long since been made. 
“It is more romantic and thrilling to make a place 
yourself, Mr. Capron,” she answered him. “We 
feel like pioneers, you might say; and some day it 
may be worth something to say, ‘I was a first 
settler.’ And there’s the increase in the value of 
the land to be taken into consideration.” 


120 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


The rancher looked at Mrs. Bronson. “Is that 
the way you feel about it, ma’am?” he asked with 
a grim smile. 

“I believe I made my position clear when you 
visited us,” replied Mrs. Bronson. 

“In that case I won’t bother you with any more 
offers,” snapped out Capron as he turned abruptly 
on his heel. 

Myrle Capron approached them as they went out 
on the hotel porch. “Glad to meet you again, Miss 
Bronson,” he greeted, ignoring the girl’s mother 
save for a flashing glance. 

Annalee was vexed and showed it in her manner 
toward him. She merely bowed. 

“I was wondering if I could have a dance with 
you at the big ball to-morrow,” he went on, oblivi¬ 
ous of his cold reception. 

“It’s not probable that we will go,” said the 
girl. 

“Oh, you don’t want to miss that, Miss Bron¬ 
son. They’ve built a big pavilion just for this 
celebration, and brought an orchestra from the 
Falls. You’ll be there all right, an’ I hope you 
save me a dance. You know,” he went on, lower¬ 
ing his voice to a confidential tone; “you know I 
don’t always agree with dad an’ Jake Gruger. I’m 
more broadminded, I am. I don’t mind homesteadin’ 

neighbors, if they’re the right kind-” He broke off 

as the girl turned away in disgust, taking her 
mother’s arm. He looked surprised. 


THREE MEETINGS 


121 


They did not wait to listen to what else he had 
to say, but mingled with the throngs in the street. 
Soon their holiday spirit returned, and they found 
themselves laughing gayly with the crowds of 
merrymakers. 

“We don’t get a chance to celebrate often, but 
when we do, we celebrate!” This from a matron 
with whom they collided in the crush. 

The woman passed on; but they had caught 
something of the attitude of the celebrants from 
her and understood why these people entered so 
enthusiastically into the fun making. 

They were returning to their hotel late in the 
evening when they suddenly came fac to face with 
Silent Scott. He doffed his hat and smiled at them. 

Annalee glanced instinctively at his left hand 
and saw that it was no longer bandaged. “Your 
injury is well again?” said the girl, her voice 
sounding foolish even to herself. 

“Thanks to your help,” he said, again favoring 
them with that baffling smile. 

To the girl’s irritation she could think of noth¬ 
ing to say, and they were jostled apart by the 
crowd. 

“Let’s go to our room, mother,” said Annalee, 
almost angrily. 


CHAPTER XIII 


TWO CONTESTS 

A NNALEE lay in bed trying to analyze her 
thoughts long after her mother had fallen 
asleep. The shouts and laughter of the holiday 
crowd continued in the street after midnight; but 
the girl did not hear them as she lay staring at 
the fluttering muslin curtains in the open window. 

She resented the offers of Capron to buy them 
out, and the bold advances of the son, Myrle. She 
was interested and yet annoyed in so far as Silent 
Scott was concerned. But more than anything else, 
she was irritated because Silent Scott puzzled her. 
She could not fathom his looks or his actions. He 
was either wonderfully capable and deep, or he was 
merely shallow and spectacular. She could not 
decide which was the correct deduction. But she 
was annoyed with him simply because he puzzled 
her. 

She finally fell asleep, amused at her concern 
with the artifices of the men who claimed the 
country for their own. 

Morning saw scores of horsemen, wagons, and 
automobiles pouring into Brant. The crowd was 
augmented to three times its size of the day before. 
Early in the day it became apparent that although 


TWO CONTESTS 


123 


but one celebration had been advertised, there really 
were two distinct celebrations—one in the old town, 
and the other in the newer section of Brant proper. 
Rivalry between the two factions soon developed. 

In the new part of town the big, open-air dancing 
pavilion had been erected, and dancing began at 
eleven o’clock in the morning. Here, too, were held 
races and other contests before noon. But the old 
town had reserved the big riding events for itself, 
and the bucking-broncho contests, roping, bull- 
dogging, and horse races were scheduled for the 
afternoon on the open prairie beyond the old build¬ 
ings on the west side of the railroad tracks. 

Annalee and her mother followed the band and 
parade to the old town rodeo in the early after¬ 
noon. Bleachers had been erected about the field 
where the contests were to be held, and the two 
were fortunate in getting seats. A Mrs. Claren¬ 
don, on Mrs. Bronson’s right, proved a hospitable 
soul as well as a literal fund of information. She 
had lived on the north fork of the Teton for thirty 
years, the wife of a cattleman and the mother of 
a family of five. 

“We’ve sold out an’ are goin’ to Californy to 
live,” she informed them. “Most of the cattle 
people are drifting down there. We’ve had enough 
blizzards to last us the rest of our life an’ worked 
hard enough to deserve a rest. Besides, we want 
the children to have a good schoolin’—something 
they can’t get aroun’ here.” 


124 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


She did not seem to resent the fact that Mrs. 
Bronson and her daughter were homesteaders. In¬ 
stead, she sympathized with them. 

“You’ll sure earn your farms, all right,” she 
averred. “Relieve me, I know what you’ve got 
coming. It won’t be play, Mrs. Rronson.” 

She chuckled to herself. “Rut it’s better’n the 
East,” she declared hastily. “This air will put 
you on your pins in no time, Mrs. Bronson. Even 
the winter will tone you up.” 

Mrs. Bronson warmed toward her. She con¬ 
fessed her loneliness, at times, for women neigh¬ 
bors. 

“That’s what I call tough—havin’ to live near 
them Caprons,” said Mrs. Clarendon. “He just 
worked his wife to death, and now he’s got a 
housekeeper who’s just as overbearin’ as himself. 
An’ the Capron girl is so snobbish—without any 
reason—that she can’t get along with anybody! 
There’s that big bully foreman of theirs, now.” 

She pointed to where Gruger was standing near 
some horses at one side of the field. Mrs. Bron¬ 
son and the girl made out the man Lummox also. 

“Last pre-lim-i-naries to the buck-ing broncho 
contest!” sang a gayly dressed horseman through 
a megaphone. 

Mrs. Clarendon had explained the nature of the 
various contests as they had taken place so the 
girl and her mother could understand. 

“Winners of the pre-lim-i-naries to try to ride 


TWO CONTESTS 


125 


Cy-clone, Hope-less, an’ Te-ton Steam-boat,” sang 
out the announcer. 

“Them’s outlaw horses,” Mrs. Clarendon ex¬ 
plained. “Cyclone’s the worst; he’s a man-killer, 
I’ll say. It’ll take a good one to stick on him.” 

Several riders who essayed to stick on the bucking 
horses in the preliminary were thrown. 

“Ain’t got the riders left in the country,” Mrs. 
Clarendon apologized. 

But the girl and her mother were greatly inter¬ 
ested and excited, and when one man, announced 
as “Little” Joe Wheeler, qualified, they cheered and 
clapped their hands in approval. 

“Well, if that little runt ain’t got himself in the 
public eye at last!” exclaimed Mrs. Clarendon. 
“He works for us, or did, till we sold our stock. 
Gettin’ let out must have put some sense in him! 
He ain’t drinkin’, or he’d never stuck on that hoss!” 

Even Mrs. Bronson laughed delightedly at this. 

Lummox, the dark-faced assistant to Jake Gruger, 
was the next to qualify. 

Annalee became aware of an excited group at 
the edge of the field almost directly below them. 
She saw Andy Saw telle waving his arms and slap¬ 
ping some one on the back. The poet had affected 
an artist’s tie and this, under his long face, com¬ 
bined with his flapping, worn hat and slender 
figure, gave him something of a mawkish appear¬ 
ance. 

Then Annalee saw that it was Silent Scott he 


126 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


was pounding on the back. Pat McCarthy was in 
the little group also. He was standing on the edge, 
his short legs braced well apart, hat jammed back 
on his head, pipestem in one corner of his mouth 
and the bowl of the pipe upside down. 

“Looks as if he had been drinking!” exclaimed 
the girl. 

“What’s that?” called Mrs. Clarendon. “Lor’ me, 
deary, it’s most of them that have been takin’ 
on some likker this day.” 

Silent Scott went out to ride. Annalee watched 
him curiously, and saw him qualify for the finals 
with more ease than any rider had exhibited. 

“Another chance to show off,” she murmured, 
although she had not been able to help admiring 
his superb riding. 

With the finals on. Little Joe drew the Teton 
Steamboat, a rangy bay with a wicked look in his 
eyes. In less than a minute Steamboat had thrown 
his rider, to the derisive hoots of the spectators 
and Mrs. Clarendon’s cries of encouragement. 

“There goes that half-Mexican of Capron’s,” 
scoffed Mrs. Clarendon as Lummox went out to ride 
the horse, Hopeless. “They say he carries a knife 
in his boot, an’ I wouldn’t put it past him. Sup¬ 
posed to be a killer, too.” 

Hopeless had to be blindfolded before he could 
be saddled, and he showed more viciousness than 
the horse which had thrown Little Joe. He was 
a big, black horse, so tall that the hazers had to 


TWO CONTESTS 


127 


come to the assistance of the wranglers in putting 
the leather on him. 

Gruger was on the field, whispering in Lum¬ 
mox’s ear. When he retired from the field he 
joined a group some distance from where Sawtelle, 
Pat, and Silent Scott were standing with some 
others. Annalee felt a sense of misgiving as she 
realized that her employees had ostensibly allied 
themselves with Scott. 

Hopeless was off to a series of crow hops the in¬ 
stant the bandage was pulled from his eyes and 
he felt Lummox’s weight in the saddle. Then, with¬ 
out warning, he began to sunfish. Up he went and 
came down low to one side and then to the other 
until Lummox’s stirrups nearly touched the ground. 
Failing thus to dislodge his rider he whirled in mid¬ 
air, changing ends, and Lummox lost his right 
stirrup. 

A howl of excitement went up from the crowd. 
Gruger and the others with him were shouting 
madly. Lummox kept his hand from the horn, 
scorning to pull leather and lose the contest in 
that way. But he couldn’t regain his stirrup. His 
right spur slipped into the cinch hand and the 
judges shouted to him. This hold, however, availed 
him nothing, for a second later he went spinning 
over Hopeless’ head and landed ignominiously in 
the dust. There was a shout of delight. 

Annalee could see Sawtelle and Pat cheering 
wildly and swinging their hats. Gruger’s face was 


128 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


nearly purple as he witnessed this demonstration, 
and Lummox’s eyes were darting fire as he scram¬ 
bled to his feet and took himself off the field. 

This left Silent Scott as the one remaining con¬ 
tender for the prize, and he walked slowly out to 
where Cyclone, a sorrel, blindfolded, and with a 
“twist on his ears,” was struggling with the 
wranglers. Three times the saddle blanket was 
dislodged before it was put there to stay, followed 
by Scott’s saddle. 

Shouts of derision were coming from the Capron 
group while Andy and Pat were yelling encourage¬ 
ment. 

The girl became so interested that she forgot her 
mother and Mrs. Clarendon, who were keeping up 
a running fire of conversation. 

Annalee noticed that Scott hadn’t effected the gay 
attire favored by many of the other men who had 
lived long in that country. But neither had Gruger 
or Lummox, for that matter. She wondered if there 
was any significance attached to this coincidence. 

She stared breathlessly as the blindfold was 
pulled from Cyclone’s eyes and Silent Scott swung 
quickly into the saddle. The wild animal seemed 
to tremble; then it lunged forward in short leaps, 
whirled, and spun in the air, as the rider raked 
it from shoulder to hip with his spurs. 

Cyclone then resorted to sunfishing, but Scott 
stuck easily in the saddle, frustrating the infuriated 
horse’s frenzied attempts to cast him off. Then 


TWO CONTESTS 


129 


Cyclone again whirled as if on an axis, all four 
feet in the air, and began swapping ends with a 
rapidity which brought a wild roar of applause 
from the excited spectators. The outlaw cork¬ 
screwed and sunfished and swapped ends in a final 
furious burst of energy, providing an exhibition of 
wicked bucking that caused the encircling hazers 
to gasp. 

As Silent Scott fought the outlaw horse, Anna- 
lee Bronson fought another contest in her own 
mind in which her inspired admiration of the man’s 
undoubted physical skill was matched against a 
naive skepticism of his mental merits. 

Suddenly she screamed. Cyclone had reared 
back. For an instant he hung straight in the air, 
balanced on his hind legs; then slowly he tipped 
backward! 

The girl’s breath stopped as Silent slipped from 
the saddle and from under just as the horse fell 
upon its back. As the animal scrambled to its 
feet, Scott again threw himself into the saddle, and 
drove in his spurs. 

Cyclone stood an instant, shaking in every 
muscle; then he dashed away on a run with the 
hazers closing in on him. 

He had bucked less than three minutes, but he 
had tried every trick he had at his command, and 
Silent had ridden him as the judges and crowd 
now acclaimed. 

Annalee looked down upon him, pale, a peculiar 


430 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


look in which aloftness and congratulation were 
commingled in her eyes, as he came off the field 
with the judges. 

She frowned with displeasure as she noticed the 
antics of Andy Sawtelle and Pat McCarthy. The 
two were singing and dancing, raising a cloud of 
dust, their arms about each other and their heads 
hare. They made a grotesque picture, she thought. 

The crowd was leaving the field, and Annalee 
and her mother began the descent of the hoard 
seats to the ground. When they were still several 
tiers of seats from the edge of the field, the girl 
saw Gruger and Lummox pass below. Lummox 
was looking at Scott’s back. 

The girl smothered a startled exclamation—sup¬ 
pressed a desire to cry out—as she saw the black 
venom in Lummox’s eyes. 

Gruger, on the other hand, seemed strangely 
satisfied. He grinned evilly as he accidentally 
caught her eye. 

She shivered as she turned her gaze quickly 
away. 

“Don’t forget to come to the big dance,” Mrs. 
Clarendon was calling to them from above. 

Annalee waved her handkerchief in a gesture of 
consent. 


CHAPTER XIV 

IN THE OLD TOWN 

*T*HE celebration reached its height with the com- 
ing of night. The games and contests were 
over and nothing remained but the dance and the 
gathering of men in the streets and the various 
resorts to talk, greet old acquaintances, renew 
friendships, or indulge in the games of chance 
which were running full blast. 

Annalee gave herself up to the wild spirit of 
pleasure which prevailed in the big dancing pavilion, 
and while her mother sat with Mrs. Clarendon, 
talking, watching, meeting other women and their 
menfolks, she danced with whoever asked her. 

Men fought for her favor, and at the conclusion 
of each number she was beset with requests for 
the next. 

Myrle Capron was feverishly eager to be her 
partner, and though she maneuvered to outwit him 
several times, she finally relented and gave him a 
dance. After all, it was best to be on as good 
terms as possible with her neighbors, she decided. 

Rut they were no sooner on the floor than she 
regretted her decision. Myrle’s face was flushed, 
his step at times none too sure. He kept holding 
her off and looking down at her with an intent. 


132 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


burning gaze out of eyes unnaturally bright. She 
did not need the scent of his breath to inform her 
that he had been drinking. 

“You look won—wonderful to-night,” he said, 
pressing her hand. 

“If you start talking and acting this way, we 
won’t finish the dance,” she reproved him. Then, 
to change the subject, she asked: “What have 
you been doing all day? I don’t believe I’ve seen 
you.” 

“Gambling,” he said in a confidential tone. “But 
I didn’t have any luck. I tried every—everything; 
stud poker, blackjack, craps, an’ the wheel. No 
good. I dropped a wad. I wouldn’t want dad to 
know how much.” He winked at her openly. 

“You should know better,” she said severely. 

“Oh, we all gamble out here,” said the youth 
lightly. “You ain’t got hep to us yet. We’re dif¬ 
ferent than they are in the East. You’ll catch on. 
Lots of things go out here that wouldn’t go back 
where you come from.” 

“I’m not so sure of that,” replied the girl gravely. 
“But I’m not going to preach—especially when I 
know it won’t do any good.” She laughed lightly. 
“Did you see Mr. Scott ride?” she asked purposely 
in retaliation for his belittling speech. 

Myrle scowled. “He was lucky, that’s all,” he 
said thickly. “Lummox would have beat him out 
if he hadn’t got a poor break.” 


IN THE OLD TOWN 133 

“Why, it looked all fair to me,” said Annalee, 
surprised. 

“You couldn’t be expected to understand,” he 
said almost patronizingly. “Takes an ex—expert 
eye to see the little twists of the game. Anyways, 
Scott better be careful.” 

Annalee pricked up her ears. “What do you 
mean by that?” she asked. 

“Oh, he’s got an idea he’s the whole rodeo aroun’ 
here, an’ somebody’s liable to take him down a 
few pegs,” said Myrle mysteriously. 

“I guess Mr. Scott can take care of himself,” 
said the girl airily, then waiting breathlessly on 
his answer. 

“He hadn’t better monkey with Lummox,” said 
Myrle sourly. “Lummox’ll just naturally leave him 
for the coyotes to pick, an’ that Mex ain’t feeling 
any too good to-night after being beat outa the 
bucking prize.” 

“I don’t believe Mr. Scott deliberately goes look¬ 
ing for trouble, does he?” asked the girl. 

“Maybe not; but he’s got a chip on his shoulder 
just the same,” was the reply. “An’ you ain’t 
always got to look for trouble to run plumb up 
against it. The other man might be lookin’ for it, 
an’ you wouldn’t know a thing about it?” 

The orchestra ceased playing, and they walked 
to the bench where Mrs. Bronson was sitting. 

Annalee dismissed Myrle, against his will, with 
a smile. She was worried over what he had said. 


134 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


He had seemed to imply that there might be 
trouble between Silent Scott and Lummox. Anna- 
lee felt that if such should prove to be the course 
of events, it would partly be the fault of Gruger. 
Did Gruger hate Scott because the latter had come 
to the rescue of the Bronsons the day the foreman 
had attempted to stop the work on the houses? 
Had that affair, then, been just what it had looked 
to be? She remembered Lummox’s look at Silent 
after the bucking contest; but it seemed to her that 
Gruger’s leer of satisfaction had carried more sig¬ 
nificance. Was Gruger pleased because Lummox 
hated Silent Scott, whatever the reason? 

During the next intermission the girl walked to 
the open end of the pavilion. There her worried 
glance spied Andy Sawtelle peering at the lights 
and movement within. She stepped down and 
pushed her way through the crowd about the 
entrance. 

“Oh—Miss Annalee!” He removed his hat and 
indulged in an exaggerated bow a bit uncertainly. 

The girl looked at him suspiciously. 

“I have to report that the celebration is a unan¬ 
imous success,” he announced without replacing his 
hat. “Are you enjoying yourself. Miss Bronson?” 

“Andy, you’ve been drinking!” she accused. 

A look of supreme dejection spread over the 
poet’s face. “It is all too true,” he murmured. “I 
have been caught in the treacherous whirlpools of 


IN THE OLD TOWN 135 

conviviality even as poor Pat”—there were actual 
tears in his eyes—“has sunk.” 

“You mean Pat is—is-” 

“Completely out, Miss Bronson,” sighed the poet. 
“He made the unfortunate mistake of trying to— 
ah—accompany me while I was visiting the various 
points of interest in search of old friends to whom 
I owed my regards, and indulging in the resulting 
formalities. 

“And now he sleeps in the scented hay 
Above our horses across the way. 

He’ll doubtless wake from a pleasant dream 
Sufficiently sober to drive the team.” 

“Oh, Andy!” exclaimed the girl, stamping her 
foot. Then her face cleared and her frown was 
succeeded by a look of resignation. “I suppose 
you have the right to observe your holiday as 
you choose,” she observed, shrugging her shoulders. 

“Thank you. Miss Anna. It’s my temperament. 
Sometimes I have no control over it at all, and 
my imagination runs away with my judgment. 
But if you want me to promise I will not take 
another-” 

“No,” said the girl, shaking her head. “I’m 
not going to exact any promises. But—how long 
can you keep this up?” she asked curiously. 

“That, ma’am, is a natural question from you. 
You are amazed, possibly, that I am making such 
an excellent showing. You will notice that even 


136 THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 

my articulation is unaffected. Very well, I shall 
tell you.” 

He put his hat back on his head and fondled 
the artist’s tie, fixing her with his bright gaze. 

“Early this morning I felt myself about to suc¬ 
cumb to the entreaties of my numerous friends 
that I join them in a round of regards. I had 
the foresight to take a wine glass of pure olive 
oil. That’s the secret, Miss Anna. If they don’t 
slip something across on me, I’m good for all 
night, all morning, and if necessary, all day to¬ 
morrow and the rest of the week!” 

“It won’t be necessary,” said the girl coldly, 
uncertain whether to be angry or amused. 

“If there is something you wish me to do, I 
assure you I am anxious to execute your com¬ 
mands,” said Andy eagerly. 

Annalee could not resist a smile. In any event, 
Andy was loyal. 

“Nothing? Sure?” he asked wistfully. 

“Andy, have you seen Mr. Scott to-night?” the 
girl asked suddenly. 

“Why, yes,” he replied, lifting his thin brows. 
“He’s down in the Green Front in a stud game.” 

“Gambling?” The girl seemed to ask herself the 
question. “Who else is there, Andy?” 

“Every cow-puncher in town,” said the poet. 

“Is—are Gruger and that Lummox there?” she 
asked hesitatingly. 


IN THE OLD TOWN 


137 


“Why, I ’spect so,” said Andy slowly, looking 
at her questioningly. “You heard something?” 

“I danced with Myrle Capron,” confessed the 
girl, “and he gave me the impression that there 
might be trouble between Scott and Lummox. I 
was wondering if—that day he had that run-in 
with Gruger—might have anything to do with it.” 

Andy’s eyes had become alert. He smote a palm 
with his fist. “By the snakes!” he ejaculated. 
“I’ll bet Gruger’s putting that Mex up to go out 
after Silent! You thought they were bluffing, 
ma’am, didn’t you? That would be just like him. 
Lummox could beat it and the C-Bar’d be clear. 
I wonder—I wonder-” 

“That’s just it, Andy,” said Annalee in a worried 
voice. “I’m wondering, too. And I’m wondering 
if Mr. Scott knows anything about it.” 

“He’s a suspicious cuss,” observed Andy. “He’d 
he likely to catch on.” 

“But he should know—in advance,” said the 
girl in an excited tone. “I feel that he would 
rather avoid trouble than—than meet it halfway. 
And, if there is trouble—should be trouble—I’d 
feel that I—we—were partly responsible. Oh, I 
don’t know my own mind, but—we must warn 
him, Andy.” She looked up and down the crowded 
street. 

“I’ll saunter down there and put a hug in his 
ear, Miss Bronson,” said Andy with a nod of 
affirmation. 


138 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


“And I’ll go with you,” the girl decided, “to 
make sure.” 

Andy bowed and took her arm as they made 
their way to the street. 

“I don’t blame you in the least, ma’am, for 
wanting to go with me,” he said as they walked 
toward the railroad tracks. “Those who are not 
acquainted with my—er—accomplishments on an 
occasion like this are often misled as to my ability 
to keep my head and retain my equilibrium. Here, 
I will demonstrate.” 

They had reached the tracks which were mo¬ 
mentarily free of other pedestrians. 

“Look, ma’am!” cried the poet, removing his hat 
and holding it high above his head. 

An instant later his right foot shot up and the 
toe of his right boot knocked the hat from his head. 

“You’ll notice I didn’t lose a particle of my 
balance after the kick,” he pointed out as he re¬ 
trieved his hat. 

The girl laughed softly as they resumed their 
Walk to the old town. 

“You must be part French to kick like that,” 
she intimated. 

“Native American,” said Andy morosely. “A 
prairie tramp, just like Gruger said. But I’ve 
read the books, and that’s more than most of ’em 
have done.” 

They walked on in silence, threading their way 


IN THE OLD TOWN 


139 


through the crowd which jammed the street until 
they reached the Green Front resort. 

The swinging doors had been taken off; re¬ 
moved, doubtless, to facilitate the movement of the 
scores passing in and out of the place. 

Annalee started as she looked inside. The floor 
was packed, and the bar lined with patrons three 
and four deep. She could not see the gaming 
tables, but she could hear the checks clicking in 
a lull in the sounds within the resort. It was the 
clear tones of a voice which had caused her to 
start. 

“You know you were dealt a fair hand. Lum¬ 
mox.” She recognized the voice of Silent Scott 
coming from somewhere near the door. 

Andy left her side and slipped quickly within. 

“An’ I say you went to the bottom for that 
queen!” came harshly from Lummox. 

There was a sudden movement on the part of a 
number of the spectators who edged away to either 
side. In the gap thus created Annalee saw Lum¬ 
mox’s back at a table and the calm face of Silent 
Scott across from him. 

She saw the other players as if in a daze, and 
Gruger standing to the right of Lummox while 
Andy Sawtelle was pushing to his left. 

Even as she stared, she saw Silent Scott’s face 
grow a shade paler. A queer smile played upon 
his lips. 

“Lummox, you’re not so interested in that paltry 


140 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


pot, an’ you know I don’t cheat at cards,” he 
said evenly. “You’ve busted in here huntin’ trouble 
—that’s the size of it. I ain’t sidestepping any 
responsibility, but I’d like to know what’s eatin’ 
you before the hostilities get under way.” 

His coolness appeared to madden Lummox, who 
partly rose. 

“Sit down!” Scott’s command came like a pistol 
shot. “You can’t have the advantage of the grudge 
an’ the draw, too, Lummox!” 

“You’re two-faced!” exclaimed Lummox. “You’re 
playing to the land grabbers! You’re worse than a 
card sharp, Scott, you’re a double crosser!” 

“Too late!” the girl whispered to herself. She 
wanted to cry out, but her tongue clung to the 
roof of her mouth. 

The spectators had broken away from behind 
Scott. Now those who were near Annalee shifted 
their positions to the side, for she was just with¬ 
out the door, directly behind Lummox. She could 
not move. 

Scott’s eyes had narrowed. Now his words came 
cold and clear, penetrating to every corner of the 
room and carrying to the farther side of the street. 

“That’s a lie, Lummox!” 

For ages it seemed to the girl the two men locked 
gazes; then Lummox leaned to the left, and his 
right hand darted like lightning. But, fast as he 
moved, Andy Sawtelle’s right foot moved swifter, 


IN THE OLD TOWN 


141 


and his booted toe caught Lummox’s right elbow 
as it crooked back. 

The man screamed with pain and rage as his 
gun clattered on the floor. He kicked his chair 
back, half falling in the act. 

Gruger had leaped toward Sawtelle with a curse. 

Then Lummox’s right hand came up from his 
boot, and Annalee screamed as she saw the flash 
of cold steel in the light of the hanging lamps. 

The close air of the room split to the crashing 
report of a gun, and Lummox bent suddenly for¬ 
ward and leaned on the table. The knife, slipping 
from his grasp, jangled on the chair and hit the 
floor at his feet. 

There was a moment of intense silence. The 
girl saw a little curl of blue smoke rising from 
Silent Scott’s right hip. Lummox slumped forward 
on the table. The crowd closed in, and there 
arose the murmur of hushed voices. Then con¬ 
fusion, and the girl relaxed. The scene swam 
before her eyes, and she dropped limply into the 
arms of Andy Sawtelle, who came running to her. 

She heard him speaking, heard shouts, and the 
stamping of feet. Then darkness settled over her. 


CHAPTER XY 


SONGS IN THE NIGHT 

A NNALEE recovered swiftly as Andy Sawtelle 
bore her through the gathering throng to¬ 
ward the railroad tracks which marked the division 
of the town. There he put her down and steadied 
her as she regained her strength. 

“Oh—Andy!” she sobbed. “Did you hear what 
he—said?” 

She fought for composure as he drew her gently 
across the tracks toward the hotel. 

“It wasn’t the horse contest, Andy; it was us! 
Lummox accused him of being a friend of the— 
the land grabbers. The contest just got him mad, 
that’s all, and Gruger took advantage of his feeling 
toward—toward Silent.” 

It did not seem untoward to her that she should 
use the name by which Scott was generally known 
among the men. 

“You’re right,” agreed Andy. “It was Gruger’s 
doings. He figured Lummox could put Silent out 
of the way, and then he’d have plain sailing out 
there. He’s been a raging volcano ever since Silent 
butted in that day.” 

“And I thought it was stage play!” groaned the 
girl. “Andy, I want to go to my room.” 

The crowds were surging toward the old town 


SONGS IN THE NIGHT 


143 


and the Green Front resort. Everywhere there was 
excitement. Home seekers and other newcomers to 
the town were calling to each other almost in 
triumph. 

“There’s been a killing!” 

“Caught a guy cheating at cards!” 

“All happened in a minute, they say.” 

Annalee shuddered as she heard the remarks 
passed back and forth. The injustice of it all 
struck her with sinister force. The shooting had 
been forced on Silent Scott. But a question kept 
intruding. Had Silent hoped to avoid the meeting? 
Had he tried to avoid it? It all had taken place 
so quickly that the girl had not been able to get 
a true perspective on the progressive steps of the 
tragedy. 

When they reached the hotel, Andy entered with 
her and escorted her up the stairs. At the door 
of her room he removed his hat and spoke earnestly. 

“Now, Miss Anna, you mustn’t think too much 
about this. You seem to be trying to blame your¬ 
self, and that is wrong—very wrong. There’s been 
bad blood between Silent and Gruger for a long 
time, just because Gruger’s been jealous of Silent. 
Gruger is worse than a coyote. He’s had Lummox 
pull more than one dirty stunt for him. Lummox 
was sore because Silent beat him in the bucking 
contest, but he didn’t have to pick a ruckus with 
him on that account. The Twin B didn’t have 
anything to do with this. It was just Gruger 


144 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


and Lummox trying to put it over on Silent, and 
I’ve got a hunch that they thought Silent would 
back down. That’s all. Now you lie down for a 
spell, and I’ll he back with any news-” 

“Yes!” the girl interrupted eagerly. “I want to 
know if—if Lummox—do you think he was killed, 
Andy?” 

Andy shrugged. “Silent had to stop that knife,” 
he said noncommittally. “He hadn’t started to draw, 
hardly, when I kicked Lummox. But when he 
came out with that knife, well, Silent didn’t have 
much time to pick a spot for his target.” 

The girl opened her door and entered her room. 
She lit the lamp with trembling fingers. The room 
had two windows on the east side of the building, 
and she could hear the excited exclamations of men 
in the hotel bar which was situated under her 
room on the first floor; its several windows opened 
below hers. 

She dropped upon the bed, striving to readjust 
her mental processes. Yet, at that time, it seemed 
she could remember nothing but the grim face 
and keen eyes of Silent Scott under the hanging 
lamp, and the swift moves of the man Lummox. 
She shivered with memory of the gleam of the 
knife. 

In all her life she never had seen men so aroused, 
and here there was a deadly, quiet confidence about 
certain men. She felt herself shrink from the 
thought of Silent Scott. In some intangible way 



SONGS IN THE NIGHT 


145 


he had seemed different—perhaps he had merely 
been conspicuous. Anyway, this thing had come 
between her thoughts of him—had made him seem 
another and totally different man to her. He was 
no longer a bluff, as she had foolishly chided her¬ 
self; but, in being the other kind of man, he seemed 
automatically removed from her ken. 

The door opened, and her mother came in, accom¬ 
panied by Mrs. Clarendon. 

“The poor dear,” Mrs. Clarendon was saying. 

Annalee’s mother put her arms about the girl 
and kissed her. The older woman seemed to have 
recruited strength from her daughter’s ordeal. 

“Don’t worry, and try to forget as much of it as 
you can,” said the practical Mrs. Clarendon. “Lor’ 
me, those are things any woman is li’ble to see 
in this country. Look at me—I’ve seen three per¬ 
fectly good killings an’ a man cut his own throat 1” 

“Mrs. Clarendon!” exclaimed Mrs. Bronson in an 
awed voice. 

“ ’Sfact,” affirmed the good woman with a vigor¬ 
ous nod of her head. “But I’m sure glad that 
C-Bar Mex got his!” 

“Oh, how can you say that?” Annalee reproved 
her. 

“How? Why, because that’s the way I feel 
about it,” replied Mrs. Clarendon heartily, sitting 
in the rocking-chair and rocking violently. “Him 
drawing a knife! From what that shiftless poet 
told us—excuse me for callin’ him that since he’s 


146 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


workin’ for you two an’ I reckon he’s a good sort— 
Silent let him go the first time. He would have 
been justified in lettin’ daylight through him the 
second he went for his gun. Then the hound tries 
to throw a knife into him! I ain’t got any use 
for any knife throwers!” 

Mrs. Clarendon’s manner was a source of amuse¬ 
ment to the girl, despite her concern over what had 
happened. 

“Let me tell you something, Mrs. Rronson, since 
you’ve come out here to live, and you, too, deary,” 
Mrs. Clarendon went on. “You’ve got to change 
your ideas out here an’ broaden out—I guess 
that’s what they’d call it. You got to take things 
as they come an’ get used to these men of ours. 
They’re more or less boys—grown-up boys. They’ve 
had a lot of room to play aroun’ in an’ they get 
peevish when their range is cut down. The law 
ain’t been much—usually every man for himself, 
you might say. They ain’t got over that, either. 
An’ there’s no stopping them when they get it in 
for one another. You might just as well let ’em 
fight it out any way they want an’ be done with 
it. My man lost half his hair an’ three front 
teeth tryin’ to shove our ranch bound’ry two feet 
west. He couldn’t make it stick, but he was satis¬ 
fied after the fight. That’s the way they are. 
You can’t reason with ’em. All you can do is 
feed ’em good an’ trust to luck. They tame down 
in time—when they get old. An’ there ain’t no 


SONGS IN THE NIGHT 147 

better male stock in America or Californy than right 
here!” 

Both the other women smiled at this outburst, 
even as they gleaned the current of common sense 
in it. 

“So don’t be blaming this Silent Scott,” Mrs. 
Clarendon admonished. “That Mex put the play 
up to him an’ he had to go through. An’ don’t 
be blaming yourselves, either. It wasn’t any of 
your fault. Most of these grudges are too deep 
for us women to see through because they start 
in some silly way an’ the men that’s on the inside 
are usually close-mouthed. That’s one thing you 
got to hand it to the men for—they don’t tell on 
each other like us women.” 

As she finished speaking a knock was heard ofi 
the door. 

“Come in,” called Mrs. Clarendon. 

Andy Sawtelle opened the door. But he made 
no move to enter. 

“Lummox ain’t dead—yet,” he announced, look¬ 
ing at Annalee. “The doctor’s working on him, and 
he may pull out of it.” 

“Oh, that’s good news!” cried the girl. “Thank 
you, Andy.” 

Mrs. Clarendon smiled wryly as the poet with¬ 
drew. “That fellow acts like he was feeling some 
responsibility,” she observed. “Well, you folks have 
done more’n anybody in these parts ever was able 
to do before. You’ve got him working!” 


148 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


“He practically volunteered,” said Annalee with 
a laugh. She felt better after having heard the 
poet’s news. “Maybe he didn’t receive the proper 
encouragement before.” 

“He rode the line an’ dodged jobs for twenty 
years that I know of,” said Mrs. Clarendon dryly. 
“You must have him hypnotized, young lady.” 

Annalee blushed under the critical gaze. She 
began quietly to prepare for bed while her mother 
and Mrs. Clarendon gossiped on a wide variety of 
topics. The conversation seemed to do Mrs. Bron- 
son good, the girl reflected. 

An hour later Mrs. Clarendon left, after she had 
invited them to visit her at her place west of town 
before she and her family left for California in 
the fall. 

Mrs. Bronson chattered on as she prepared to 
retire. She blew out the light in the lamp and 
soon fell asleep. 

But Annalee couldn’t sleep. She kept going over 
the events of the day in her mind. The noise from 
the barroom below kept her awake also. 

Suddenly she sat up in bed and listened intently. 
Some one was singing in the barroom, and the 
words drifted distinctly to her ears. 

“They buried him out on the lone pra-air-ee, 

With a cac-tus at his head; 

‘It’s powerful sad, but his aim was bad,’ 

Was what the mourners said.” 


SONGS IN THE NIGHT 


149 


Annalee recognized the thin, tenor voice as Andy’s. 
There seemed to be some vague significance to the 
words of the song. The vocalist was applauded 
vociferously. Annalee wondered if the song could 
have any connection with the tragedy of that night. 
This singing of burying- 

She worried the matter in her mind. Would 
Silent Scott be tried for murder if Lummox died? 
Was Lummox dead? Was Silent even then on his 
way to jail? 

In the end she got up silently, wrapped herself 
in her dressing robe, put on her slippers, opened 
the door, and stealthily stole out into the hall to 
the head of the stairs. As luck would have it she 
saw the porter moving below and called to him. 

“Will you please tell Andy Sawtelle to come to 
the stairs for a minute?” she asked in a low tone. 
“He’s in—the bar, I think.” 

The man obeyed, and a half minute later Andy 
came hurrying up the stairs. His face was the 
picture of grave concern. 

“I heard you singing—about burying somebody,” 
she explained. “Did it have anything to do with 
what happened to-night? Is Lummox—dead?” 

“No sudh luck,” said Andy. “He’s too tough 
to die when he ought, that bird. I was just en¬ 
tertaining the boys a little. Are you awake yet. 
Miss Bronson?” he concluded stupidly. 

“Andy, you’ve been celebrating again,” said the 
girl with an exasperated frown. 


150 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


Andy bowed. “Racchus hangs on the fuses of 
the firecrackers,” he said solemnly. “You didn’t 

ask me to promise, and so-” He waved an 

arm in a gesture of abandon. 

“Have they—done anything to Silent Scott?” asked 
Annalee. 

“Not that I’ve heard of,” replied Andy, surprised. 
“I reckon Gruger will call it a day and lay off 
a while.” 

“No, I mean have they—arrested him?” 

“What for?” Andy demanded. “He acted in 
self-defense. And, besides, Lummox isn’t dead yet!” 

“We will go home in the morning—early,” said 
the girl severely as she turned back to her room. 

Ref ore she fell asleep she again heard the poet’s 
voice raised in song. 

“I’m lost on the lone pra-air-ee, 

I cannot find my way-y-y; 

I’ll stay here all night in the stars’ soft light, 

Till the dawn of the break-ing day-y-y.” 

There seemed a sad note in Andy’s voice. It 
quavered. Evidently his celebration was working 
havoc with his normal cheerfulness. 

Rut Annalee detected a subtle meaning in this 
verse, also. 

“Till the dawn of the breaking day.” 

Why should that line linger in her memory? 
What was it she could not understand? Why 
did she have a feeling as if she were lost? 



SONGS IN THE NIGHT 


151 


“The foreman asked, ‘Where was you going?’ 

‘To get more hosses,’ the hoss thief said. 

‘Hang him to that cottonwood!’ the foreman yelled; 
‘Hang him high till he’s good an’ dead!’ ” 

Andy’s mood apparently had changed in the brief 
interval when glasses had tinkled. 

Annalee turned over and drew the covers over 
her ear. In a short time she slept. 


CHAPTER XVI 

THE SILENCE IS BROKEN 

O N the way to the ranch the morning following 
the celebration in Brant, it was Mrs. Bron¬ 
son who was most talkative, Annalee being pre¬ 
occupied and Andy and Pat observing a decorum 
which was not their natural bent. 

Pat drove, an unlighted pipe between his teeth, 
and Andy nodded in the seat beside him. 

From the rear seat Mrs. Bronson directed a lec¬ 
ture at the pair, which they gave no sign of 
bearing, while Annalee occasionally smiled in quiet 
amusement. 

As the sun mounted toward the zenith, Mrs. 
Bronson desisted in her friendly, almost motherly 
tirade and opened a parasol which she held over 
herself and her daughter. They drove on silently 
through the heat of the day, Pat refusing to push 
the sweating horses, and Andy dozing in fits and 
starts. 

It was midafternoon when they reached the 
homesteads and found, to their intense relief that 
nothing had been disturbed. 

“I didn’t think that old Capron would have the 
nerve to bother anything here,” said Annalee with 
false conviction. 


THE SILENCE IS BROKEN 


153 


“It wouldn’t be policy,” said Andy dryly. 

“He’s done enough as it is,” the girl retorted. 

Andy shook his head gravely. “I don’t believe 
Capron is responsible for Gruger’s schemes and 
actions,” he said slowly. “He’s sore, and he wants 
to buy you out; but I think that’s about as far 
as he’d go himself. He’s pretty sure to respect 
the code that men can’t make war on women here¬ 
abouts and get public opinion to back them up.” 

“Well, he can’t say as much for his foreman,” 
said Annalee, tossing her head. 

Andy looked at her thoughtfully. “Gruger isn’t 
directing his attack directly at you,” he pointed out. 

“Oh!” The girl stepped back as if she had been 
struck. “I—I know what you mean, Andy.” 

Pain and remorse were reflected in the poet’s face. 

“Miss Anna,” he said contritely, “please don’t 
misunderstand why I said that. I just wanted 
to show you—honestly, I did—what a skunk Gruger 
is. You—you misunderstood him. I don’t blame 
you. You thought he was blustering—bluffing. 
But that isn’t his way. He’s dangerous. He’s 
doubly dangerous now that he’s got his back to the 
wall trying to keep this range. And it isn’t that 
he’s as loyal as all that to Capron and the C-Bar. 
It’s because he wants to have his own way. His 
word has been law in this section in here by the 
river for years, and it drives him mad to think 
that any one would go against his will.” 

“I understand you, Andy,” answered the girl 


154 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


gravely. “And—these are things I would like to 
keep from mother, if I can.” 

‘Til never mention a thing to her!” exclaimed 
Andy loyally. 

“Thank you, Andy,” she murmured as she turned 
into her house. 

Andy looked after her wistfully; then he pulled 
his hat over his eyes and went to the bam where 
Pat was putting up the horses. 

“There’s your tapering-off medicine,” said Pat, 
grinning, and pointing to a pint flask on the top 
of the feed box. 

Andy took up the bottle, hesitated, with thumb 
and finger on the cork, glared at Pat, then flung 
it among the bags of feed in a vacant stall. 

The Irishman stared after him as he went out. 

They had supper early, before sunset, and after 
the meal Andy went out to inspect the plowed 
acreage. They were preparing a patch of forty 
acres for seeding, twenty acres to be on Annalee’s 
homestead and twenty acres on her mother’s land. 

Sawtelle, however, did not pay any great atten¬ 
tion to the plowed field. He sat on a pile of stone 
which had been picked from the surface of the 
prairie in the path of the plow, and stared into 
the south and west. He marveled, as 'he had all his 
life, at the stupendous, inspiring spectacle of the 
prairie sunset. He listened to the wind, which rose 
steadily, and held his face up to it, looking at the 
silvering skies in the northwest. Thus a horseman 


THE SILENCE IS BROKEN 


155 


came within his line of vision and Andy stared, 
curiously at first, then with eyes and senses keenly 
alert. 

He rose and waved his hat as the rider ap¬ 
proached. The horseman saw him and came on. 

In Andy’s eyes rebellion, envy, admiration, and 
wonder clashed as Silent Scott reined in his mount 
and smiled down upon him. 

“What’s new?” he asked. 

“Still kicking,” said Scott. “I hope he don’t 
pass out,” he added with a frown. 

Sawtelle indulged in a shrug. “You’re too lib¬ 
eral,” he said. “He had it coming. Going for a 
knife, that way.” 

“I know,” Scott admitted. “But there are folks 

that wouldn’t understand-” He glanced toward 

the houses in the distance. “An’ I ain’t hankerin’ 
to nick up my gun butt.” 

“A man like you can’t help having notches in 
his gun,” said Andy. “Been riding long?” 

“Since morning. I started for up on the Marias.” 

Andy’s eyes clouded. But they cleared presently, 
and his brows lifted. He squinted at Silent Scott 
quizzically. 

“Going back to the Brakes?” he asked. 

Scott’s gaze flashed toward the river. “Maybe. 
For a time. Did you tell ’em, up at the house, 
that I was in there for a week after Gruger was 
up here?” 

Andy shook his head. “They think you beat it 



156 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


out and left them cold,” he replied with a short 
laugh. “You don’t take much credit to yourself 
for what you do, Silent.” 

“What did it amount to?” asked Scott scorn¬ 
fully. “An’ they probably wouldn’t understand. 
How can they when I don’t understand myself, 
you might say!” 

Andy laughed. Rut it was a mirthless laugh. 

Scott eyed him narrowly. 

“Look here, Silent, you come on over to the 
house,” said Andy suddenly. 

It was Scott’s turn to laugh. “What for?” he 
scoffed. 

“I think that girl’s got it coming to her to know 
something about you,” said Andy, frowning. “At 
least she’s entitled to the chance to get you right; 
I mean, to feel that she’s better acquainted with 
you. It isn’t nice to think you’re under obligations 
to a total stranger.” 

Scott winced, but he essayed a smile. “You’ve 
got to take some things for granted in this coun¬ 
try,” he observed dryly. 

“But they haven’t been brought up that way, 
Silent,” Andy pointed out earnestly. “It ain’t fair 
to them—to the girl—to put them in such a place. 
Last night’s business came with something of a 
shock. The girl saw it, you know.” 

“She—saw it?” gasped Scott. 

“Sure. Got a hint from young Capron that 
Lummox was gunning for you and dragged me over 


THE SILENCE IS BROKEN 157 

to the Green Front to warn you—went with me to 
be sure I tipped you off.” 

Silent Scott stared with an expression of blank 
amazement. “An’ you say they haven’t been 
brought up our way!” Scott blurted out. “Where 
was she when it happened?” 

“Out front,” answered Sawtelle with a scowL 
“Waiting for me. I’d just gone in. They got 
out from behind Lummox so’s not to stop any stray 
bullets and gave her a good view of the pro¬ 
ceedings.” 

He started toward the house, where the lights 
were shining, and Scott followed him, walking his 
horse. 

“Say, that kid’s sure got spunk!” declared Scott. 

“Oh, you’re just guessing,” Andy flung sarcas¬ 
tically over his shoulder. 

Silent Scott smiled as he rode on behind the 
poet. 

Annalee was standing on the little porch of her 
house when they came up. She looked rarely 
beautiful in the deepening twilight, with a greeting 
and a question in her eyes. 

Scott swept his hat low. 

“I couldn’t go on without stopping, after what 
I heard to-night,” he said in a low voice as Andy 
took a hurried departure. 

“Oh, you have bad news?” asked the girl with 
immediate concern. 


158 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


“None whatever,” Scott assured her, dismount¬ 
ing. “I want to thank you, Miss Bronson.” 

“Thank—me?” 

“For thinking of me last night,” he said smiling. 

“I—don’t believe I—quite understand,” faltered 
the girl. 

She marveled that this boyish-appearing man 
could, on occasion, be the cold, formidable-looking 
person she had seen across the gaming table 
from Lummox the night before. His eyes, his frank 
speech, his smile—everything about him belied the 
reputation he must have as a gunman and perhaps 
an outlaw. 

“I believe you sent Andy Sawtelle in to wise 
me up about that fellow, Lummox,” he said. 

“Oh! Yes, that is true. I—we—felt partly re¬ 
sponsible.” 

“Rut when you started to warn me, you didn’t 
know then what excuse Lummox was going to 
make for shooting me, did you, ma’am?” 

“I don’t think we need to discuss how I came 
to—to decide as I did,” said Annalee stiffly, with 
heightened color. “But have you had supper?” 

“No,” said Scott cheerfully. “An’ what’s more, 
I don’t know where I’m going to get any.” 

Annalee looked at him suspiciously, but couldn’t 
resist a laugh. “Come in,” she invited. “Mother 
has gone to her house to go to bed,” she explained 
when they were inside. “The ride in the heat gave 


159 


THE SILENCE IS BROKEN 

her a headache. I’ll have to give you a cold sup¬ 
per, I’m afraid.” 

“Well, I’ve had two or three cold meals, so I 
guess I can stand one more,” returned Scott, grin¬ 
ning, as he seated himself near the table. 

“There’s hot water to make tea,” she pattered. 
“Some cold meat and potato salad—do you like 
potato salad?” 

“You’ve got the most wonderful head of hair 
I ever saw in my life!” was Scott’s irrelevant 
answer. 

She looked at him in astonishment. Then she 
turned away quickly, coloring. “You evidently in¬ 
clude flattery among your accomplishments,” she 
commented. 

“I wouldn’t call that flattery, Miss Bronson,” he 
said easily. “That’s a plain statement of fact. 
Do you know what your hair reminds me of?” 

She wrinkled her brows and risked a swift 
glance to make sure he was in earnest. “What?” 
she asked, and was partly sorry for it. 

“Well, there’s a time in fall, ma’am, when these 
prairies take on a reddish-gold look along in the 
late afternoon. I like ’em best then. An’ your 
hair is just that color—with the sun goin’ down 
in it.” 

“I thought Andy was the only poet on the prem¬ 
ises,” she remarked, with some misgiving. 

Silent Scott laughed with delight. “You’re clever 


160 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


as well as too all fired good looking,” he said, 
with a mock frown. 

“Mr. Scott, did you call to pass compliments?” 
she asked with hauteur. 

“Not exactly. I stopped to thank you, as I told 
you first. Rut the compliments—if you want to 
call ’em that—just leaked out naturally. I couldn’t 
help myself. You see I was born an’ reared in 
this God-forsaken country, ma’am, an’ I used to 
think the finest thing I’d ever seen was the prairie 
cactus flower. Maybe that was because there ain’t 
many flowers here. Then—I saw you.” 

Annalee could not bring herself to answer this 
flippantly. She saw the wistful, moody look in 
his eyes. It was not mere cajolery on his part. 
He was like a boy confessing some youthful trans¬ 
gression. She noted the clear, tanned skin of his 
face and throat, the tumbled shock of blond hair, 
the neatness of his dress—his black riding boots 
shone with the luster of their polish. Then her 
appraising glance rested on the butt of the gun 
on his right thigh. Instinctively she shuddered. 

“Silent-■” The name slipped out naturally, 

and she did not correct herself. “Are you a—a 
gunman?” she asked impulsively. 

He smiled at her. It was catching—that smile. 

“I expected you would ask that,” he replied 
quietly. “There are several ways of answering it. 
In the way you would think of it where you come 



THE SILENCE IS BROKEN 161 

from, I’m not; in the way that we look at it out 
here, I am.” 

“I don’t believe I understand you,” she said, 
puzzled. 

“Well, it’s this way,” he drawled, gazing at 
her with a half-humorous, half-quizzical expres¬ 
sion out of his baffling, blue eyes. “I reckon you 
people back there have read a lot about gunmen 
an’ that What you’ve read has got you to believing 
he’s a bloodthirsty critter, lookin’ every minute for 
a chance to pull down his smoke wagon on some 
gent an’ just naturally fill him full of holes. How 
about it?” 

“Oh, no,” she protested. Then she wrinkled her 
brows. “That is—well, perhaps we have been 
given to understand something of that nature,” she 
amended. 

“I thought so,” he said. “Well, I ain’t that kind, 
ma’am. Now, out here, any man that’s pretty handy 
with his weapon is liable to get to be known as 
a gun fighter. I guess I come under that brand. 

She looked at him gravely. “You can ride, you 
can shoot, you can—are you perfect in everything, 
Silent?” 

His laughter filled the room, and she flushed 
indignantly. 

“No, miss,” he said sobering. “I’m a miserable 
gambler. No, I know you don’t like that idea 
gambling, I mean. Well, it’s done out here. I 
ain’t very handy with a rope, although I can snare 


162 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


a straight shot now an’ then. I don’t know a 
thing about women. Now let’s see-” 

“You had better eat your supper,” Annalee inter¬ 
posed, severely, overlooking the fact that she hadn’t 
finished preparing it. 

“Maybe so,” he said, grinning. “What should I 
begin on, ma’am.” 

She didn’t speak again until the food was on 
the table and he was eating. 

“Don’t you get good food on the ranches?” she 
asked seriously. 

He scowled. “Did you ask me that because I 
was goin’ at this so hearty? Well, I’ll tell you. 
We get plenty of it, but it wasn’t as good as this. 
We didn’t hardly have potato salad more’n three 
times a week, an’ it always happened that I was 
out on circle or somewheres when we had it.” 

Annalee laughed in enjoyable understanding. For 
the remainder of the meal she flitted about waiting 
upon him. After all, it seemed good to have a 
man in the house, especially a man who was 
hungry and not ashamed of it. 

When he had finished he took up his hat and 
rose. “That square’s another thing I’ll have to 
thank you for. Miss Rronson.” 

“Don’t you dare,” she said impulsively. “Still— 
maybe you’ll promise me something, Silent.” 

“I hate to make promises, ma’am, they’re so dog- 
goned tricky.” 



THE SILENCE IS BROKEN 


163 


“But I only want you to promise not to have 
any trouble with that man Gruger,” she pleaded. 

“I’m not lookin’ for trouble with Gruger,” he said 
with a frown. “An’ I wouldn’t want you to think 
anything’s goin’ to happen between us. You see”— 
his tone became very serious—“in a way. I’m like 
Gruger. I sort of hated to see the homesteaders 
come in. But I don’t like his tactics. An’ I don’t 
like him . But so far’s I’m concerned, ma’am, there’ll 
be no trouble started.” 

Annalee beamed her thanks. 

He shifted awkwardly and then walked to the 
door. She went out with him. The prairies were 
bathed in the soft moonlight; the scented wind 
had strengthened. Both of them breathed deeply 
and he turned to her with a smile. 

“Miss Bronson, I did something to-night I don’t 
think I ever did before. I went in to eat without 
takin’ care of my horse.” 

He said it so sorrowfully that the girl’s joking 
rejoinder remained unspoken. 

“That’s one thing I guess I will have to blame 
on you,” he said. 

She flushed under his compliment. 

Andy appeared, leading Scott’s horse. 

“Took the liberty of feeding him and watering 
him,” he said to Scott, as he handed him the reins. 

“You’re a good scout, Andy,” said Scott mount¬ 
ing. “I don’t usually forget Nightmare.” 

“I know that,” said Andy as he shuffled on. 


164 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


“You’ll come again, won’t you, Silent?” said 
the girl. 

“Thank you,” he said simply. Then he was gone. 

For some time Annalee stood looking after the 
black shadow that swept southeastward. It was 
amazing, this meeting—amazing in more ways than 
she could determine. 

Then Andy appeared again. “You better go in 
the house, Miss Anna, and clear off the dishes.” 

The girl was astonished and looked at him blankly. 

“There’s horsemen coming from the west, ma’am,” 
he explained. 

“Oh—what-” 

She ran into the house as Andy hurried on to¬ 
ward the barn. 


CHAPTER XYII 


ALARMS 

A NNALEE found herself going automatically 
about the work of clearing the table of dishes 
and the remainder of the food. She found herself 
hurrying, too, and suddenly she paused to wonder 
that this should be the case. Why should she 
hurry to clear the evidences of a meal because 
horsemen were coming? But she didn’t attempt to 
carry out this thread of reasoning; instead, she 
quickly put the room to rights and got out her 
sewing. 

One thing she sensed instinctively: The riders 
were not coming from the Capron Ranch. 

Soon the pound of hoofs, which Sawtelle’s trained 
ear had heard from afar, came to her. She took up 
her sewing and found herself strangely calm. She 
felt she knew what this visit portended, and she 
faced it stoically. She wondered with a thrill, if 
she was beginning to absorb the mannerisms of 
this new country. 

She heard men dismounting outside, heard voices* 
including that of Andy. 

Then boots stamped up the steps. 

She looked up to see a tall, dark man of official 
bearing and immediately recognized him as one of 


166 THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 

the officers she had seen in town the night she 
arrived. 

She nodded coolly and lifted her brows ques- 
tioningly. 

“I am Sheriff Moran, ma’am,” said the officer; 
“and I would like to ask you a few questions.” 

She saw Andy Sawtelle’s face behind him and 
was puzzled by his look. 

“Won’t you come in?” she invited. 

The sheriff took off his hat and entered somewhat 
gingerly. He was covered with dust—a sign she 
had learned meant hard riding. 

He shook his head when she indicated a chair. 

“Ma’am, do you know anything about this Silent 
Scott, they call him?” 

The girl’s eyes widened in surprise. “Why, 
Sheriff Moran! I’ve only been here a short time. 
I—I—don’t see how I could very well.” 

Sawtelle had entered. He was lounging against 
the door. 

“That isn’t the question, ma’am,” said the sheriff 
with a scowl. “I have reasons for wanting straight 
answers.” 

“Seems to me, sheriff, that Miss Bronson has 
given you a pretty square answer.” It was Saw¬ 
telle who spoke, and the official swung on him 
angrily. 

“You haven’t anything to do with this,” he said 
harshly. “With that anyway.” 

“I’m not butting in,” answered Sawtelle. “I 


ALARMS 167 

was only reminding you that Miss Bronson is a 
lady and a stranger in the country.” 

“Maybe not so much of a stranger as you might 
think,” Moran returned. 

Sawtelle scowled. “You’re not forgetting your¬ 
self, are you?” 

The sheriff was silent. 

Annalee found herself feeling rather sorry for 
him. After all, he had his duty to perform, and 
it was a difficult situation. “Sheriff, let me ask 
one question before you put any more—will you 
please?” 

He looked at her speculatively, then nodded. 

“Lummox—is he badly hurt?” 

“He’s dead!” answered the sheriff shortly. 

She started, and her face paled. 

“That’s why I’m 'here, miss,” he said in milder 
tones. “You can see what I’m up against. I’m 
not only trying to get a line on him; I’m out to 
find him!” 

One hand went up to her throat. Silent Scott 
was wanted for murder! He was a fugitive— 
an outlaw! Had he heard them coming and fled? 

“I can answer your question more direct, sheriff,” 
she said in a calm voice. “I answered as I did 
because it startled me. I don’t know anything 
about Silent Scott except that he befriended us 
here, when we didn’t know him at all, for that 
matter, and—in return—I tried to warn him that 
he might get into trouble for it—and-” 


468 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


“I reckon that’s about all I need to know, ma’am,” 
the sheriff interrupted, dryly, in a tone which she 
somehow resented. “Now, ma’am, I’ll ask you the 
second question. Silent lit out early this morning. 
Did you see him when you was driving here?” 

“No.” 

“He didn’t come here then?” 

“I don’t know where he went—when he left 
town. I don’t know where he is now. Why should 
you think he’d come here?” 

“Why, you just said he’d befriended you and 
you tried to befriend him in turn,” said the sheriff 
in mock surprise. “Maybe he’d come here to be 
befriended again, for all I know. He-” 

The girl interrupted. “Can’t you be a sheriff and 
a gentleman at the same time?” she cried scorn¬ 
fully. 

The official turned his gaze away. “Well, maybe 
I was putting it in a poor sort of way. Miss Bron¬ 
son,” he apologized. “Honestly, girl, I don’t want 
to be mean—but I’ve got to find Silent. Jobs like 
this one go with this.” 

He turned back his coat, revealing his star of 
authority. 

“I should have asked what I’m going to ask 
now in the first place. Has Silent been out this 
way at all, to your knowledge? Your word is 
perfectly good with me, ma’am.” 

The girl stood motionless, her hands to her 
breast, her face white. 


ALARMS 169 

“Seems to me she’s answered that,” drawled 
Andy Sawtelle. 

The sheriff paid no attention to him. 

Then Andy hummed softly: 

“He wears a star and asks the truth, 

And says at lies he’ll balk; 

But that’s no sign it would be a crime 
To plumb refuse to talk!” 

The sheriff turned on him, furious. “You get 
out o’ here!” he ordered in a loud voice. 

“Mr. Sawtelle is an employee of mine,” said 
Annalee firmly. 

“Which answers that, sheriff,” said Andy breezily. 

“Now I know what I wanted to know!” cried 
the sheriff. “And I warn you, Miss Bronson, you 
are aiding and maybe hiding a man that’s wanted 
by the law. You’re an accessory! You know what 
that means.” 

“Whatever it means, you’re mistaken,” said the 
girl, tossing her head and eying him defiantly. “I’m 
not going to lie to you, sheriff, because I don’t 
believe in it in the first place, and Silent Scott 
would not wish me to. I believe that much in him. 
He was here! When he was here, why he was here. 
I’m not going to tell you. Where he has gone, 

I do not know. Now, I’ll ask you to go.” 

The sheriff looked at her and saw that her lips 
were trembling, despite her flashing gaze. 

“I told you your word was good with me, Miss 


170 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


Bronson,” he said with just a trace of sarcasm. 
“And I believe you when you say you do not 
know where he has gone. But he might have tucked 
himself away around here close somewhere and I 
ain’t taking any chances.” He strode to the door. 
“Search this place—all of it!” he shouted to the 
men with him. 

Andy went out and stood on the little porch, 
whistling. 

Mrs. Bronson came to the door of her house and 
called across to her daughter. 

“Annalee—Anna—what is the matter? What has 
happened?” 

The girl ran across to her and put her arms 
about her. She drew her inside. 

“It’s some men, mother; they’re looking for a— 
a fugitive. They’re searching everywhere out this 
way for him and—came here, too. Is your head¬ 
ache better? Have you been asleep. There, I can 
see you have. That’s good, mumsy.” 

She soothed her mother and evaded direct replies 
as best she could. Meanwhile, her heart was in a 
tumult. She had not wanted to answer the sheriff’s 
questions. Why? Because the trouble on the 
Fourth had, a least so she was inclined to believe, 
arisen out of Silent’s interest in their behalf. She 
remembered the hint that he might have robbed 
the stage. She had meant to ask him about that. 
And would it have made any difference with her 
feelings this night? 


ALARMS 


171 


The sounds outside had ceased. She went to the 
door and looked out. She saw Andy Sawtelle and 
Pat talking before her own door, and she called 
softly to Andy. He came hurrying to her. 

“They were thinking of going in there, too, but 
I convinced his nibs he was all wrong,” said the 
poet lightly. 

“And where have they gone now? Which way?” 

“They split up. Some have gone east, north, and 
south. They might as well have gone straight up. 
I’m thinking.” 

“But, Andy! They’ll keep after him, won’t they? 
Won’t he have to—to face the charge of—of mur¬ 
der?” the girl asked tremulously. 

“If they catch him, he will,” Andy concded. “But 
it wasn’t murder—not that. It’s the Capron layout 
that’s behind this skunk, Lummox. Politics, maybe; 
or maybe they’ve got more cards up their sleeves.” 

“That’s all—Andy. Good night.” 

The girl went back into her mother’s house. 

“Now, deary, what is the matter?” asked Mrs. 
Bronson querulously. 

“Nothing, mother, nothing,” sobbed Annalee; 
“nothing, and—oh, everything!” 

And she buried her face on her mother’s pillow. 

Outside, Andy Sawtelle stood with his hat in his 
hand, his face upturned to the wind, a strange mist 
in his eyes of faded blue. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE RETURN 


NNALEE slept with her mother that night. Nor 



** would she disclose the reason for her tears, 
although the older woman tried to learn what had 
upset her. 

“Is it instinctive sympathy for this man the 
officers are chasing?” she asked. 

But the girl would vouchsafe no reply. 

“You must remember, dear,” Mrs. Bronson went 
on; “we have always been a law-abiding people. 
Your forbears were among the earliest settlers in 
the great State from which we come. They always 
upheld the law—fought to uphold it. Do not for¬ 
get your birth and breeding, Anna mine. They 
may not think much of such things out here, but 
they count mightily, just the same. But I know 
the blood in your veins will tell you what to do 
in an emergency.” 

Then suddenly a great, illuminating thought came 
to the mother. 

“Anna—is it Mr. Scott for whom they are 
searching?” 

There was no response, and Mrs. Bronson re¬ 
mained silent. She did not know that Scott had 
been a visitor there that night. Finally she put 


THE RETURN 


173 


aside the thought, decided her daughter was in¬ 
clined to be sentimentally generous, and fell asleep. 

But her words had left the girl dry-eyed, think¬ 
ing—thinking. 

It was true, what her mother had said. More¬ 
over, it appeared that Silent had sensed the ap¬ 
proach of the posse and had taken flight just in 
time. He had no thought of being captured, of 
facing the charge against him, even though it might 
not be a just one. If such was the case, why, 
then, should she be concerned? The matter was 
in his own hands. She had—well, she had helped 
a little, perhaps. She had not told when he was 
there nor which way he had gone. She went to 
sleep, puzzling over the little thrill which this 
realization gave her. 

There were no untoward events next day, and 
the following day the lumber concern’s wagon ar¬ 
rived with the first load of fence posts, some spools 
of wire, and a keg of staples. 

“Hurrah!” said Andy gleefully. “Now we can 
show ’em we mean business! Anyway, it takes a 
fence to make farms look like farms, Miss Anna.” 

The girl was enthusiastic. It was true that the 
fence would prove a finishing touch in distinguishing 
their domain from the rest of the world. They 
could follow with their eyes the lines of the wires 
and know just what belonged to them. But they 
did not realize for several days what an expensive 


174 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


proposition a fence could be and how much hard 
work it could entail. 

“We can put up a cheap fence, three strands, 
posts eighteen feet, or so, apart,” Andy explained; 
“or we can use four strands of wire and put the 
posts sixteen feet apart. It’ll cost a lot more, but 
it’ll keep cattle out of the crops and pay for itself 
in the end, I guess. As I say, I’m no farmer— 
I’ve just heard all this-” 

“We’ll put up a good fence,” said the girl, while 
her mother nodded. “You go right ahead, Andy.” 

Andy hauled the balance of the wire and posts 
from town while Pat quit plowing and began dig¬ 
ging post holes. 

“ ’Tis as much to me likin’ as tryin’ to keep that 
blamed plow pointed in the ground, anyway,” he 
averred, to the amusement of the others. 

Rut Andy, on his last trip, brought home a heavy 
sledge and announced they would drive the posts in. 

“I saw ’em doing it down near town, and it 
worked fine,” he explained. 

They hitched up the team to the wagon next 
morning and drove out with a load of posts. Andy 
complained that he was not sure they had run the 
proper lines, as this had been accomplished by 
“sizing up” stakes between the corners. 

“I haven’t hardly got the heart to tell Miss Anna 
she should hire a surveyor to run her lines,” he 
told Pat. “It means so much more money. Mother 
me, this place’ll cost ’em a fortune before they’re 



THE RETURN 


175 


through ‘with it. If there were more settlers in 
here we could run a party fence on one side any¬ 
way. Free land!” He snorted with indignation. 
He looked around disgusted. 

“Anyway, it’ll be easier to move a fence later, 
if we have to, than hire a surveyor now,” he capitu¬ 
lated. 

They tried driving the posts. One standing in 
the wagon box, swinging the sledge, and the other 
holding the post until it was started down straight. 
The method proved successful, except that the tops 
of the posts were mashed in somewhat; but it was 
very hard work. Andy took turns with Pat at this 
work and did very well, for he developed a knack 
the Irishman lacked. It hardened his muscles until 
he was himself surprised. 

When they had driven posts about two sides of 
the plowed space, it was decided that it would be 
a good plan to build a fence completely about the 
field first, thus assuring protection for the crop 
w r hieh would soon have to be put in. It would 
take considerable time for two men to build a 
fence clear around the half section. This they did, 
and on the day the fence was completed, they had 
a visitor from the south. 

They had just secured the last strand when they 
saw the rider approaching. It proved to be Myrle 
Capron. 

He reined in his horse with a look of amused 
tolerance on his face and inspected the completed 


176 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


fence. The field was west of the houses, and he 
had ridden out of his way to look over the work, 
as both Andy and Pat knew. They spoke no word 
of greeting, waiting for the youth to show his hand. 

“Nice job,” he said finally; “but it might not hold 
steers if they were big enough an’ mad enough.” 

“It wouldn’t hold sheep, either,” replied Andy 
dryly. 

Myrle flushed with anger. “If you’re hittin’ at 
us, you’ve missed the mark,” he said hotly. “We’ve 
sold our sheep.” 

“Yes,” drawled Andy. “What you going to range 
on the school sections?” 

“Cattle, if we range anything. You know we 
ain’t never gone in for anything but cattle, Saw- 
telle. The sheep was just an experiment of dad’s 
on that bad land below the river. We ain’t never 
been sheepmen, Sawtelle, an’ you know it!” Myrle’s 
eyes were narrowed with passion, and his voice 
was shrill. 

“Well, we’re not trying any experiments up here,” 
was Andy’s retort. 

“But you’re trying some in town,” flashed back 
Myrle, “an’ you’re liable to get into trouble as 
well as that killer, Silent Scott, if you don’t watch 
yourself!” 

With this fling, he whirled his horse, drove in 
his spurs, and galloped to the house at a furious 
pace. 

Andy stared after him in amused surprise, not 


THE RETURN 


177 


heeding Pat’s blasphemous remarks. Then, with 
concern showing in his face, he started on a run 
for the house. 

Myrle drew up before Annalee’s house and swung 
his hat low as the girl and her mother appeared. 
He laughed heartily at the look of astonishment 
on their faces. 

“Howdy,” he chuckled; “don’t you ever expect 
visits from neighbors?” 

“Under the circumstances you can hardly blame 
us for being startled,” said the girl. 

He dismounted leisurely, threw the reins over 
his horse’s head with a gesture of bravado, and 
walked up the steps to the porch. 

“I just thought I’d run over to jhow you that 
we can let bygones be bygones,” he said in his 
tone of exaggerated confidence. “How are you, 
to-day, Miss Rronson? You’re looking well, Mrs. 
Rronson. It’s hot, ain’t it? See you’ve got some 
fence up-” 

“Are you here representing your father, Mr. 
Capron?’ asked Annalee. 

“Gracious me, no,” answered Myrle, looking at 
her intently. “I’m representing myself, Annalee, 
an’ I reckon I’m having a hard time doing that.” 

The girl stiffened at his look and mention of 
her first name. “You are hardly an acquaintance 
of sufficient standing to address me as you have, 
Mr. Capron.” 



178 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


“What’ve I got to be, a banker or something?” 
he asked, grinning. 

“You misunderstood me,” she replied coldly. 
“You’ve known me but a very short time and 
hardly at all.” 

“Well, that’s what I come over for—to get better 
acquainted.” 

“Considering everything that’s taken place, I’m 
afraid that will not be possible, Mr. Capron.” 

“Oh, you’re thinking about that Lummox affair 
an’ the carpenters,” said Myrle easily; “I didn’t 
have anything to do with that.” 

“But you people 'were not friendly in the first 
place, and have been anything but friendly since,” 
Annalee pointed out. “I don’t know what part you 
might have played, but—and I don’t like to say 
it—you are not welcome here, Mr. Capron.” 

“I know what’s the matter,” he flared up; “you’re 
stuck on that killer, Silent Scott!” 

The girl’s face went white. “You are grossly 
insulting, Mr. Capron, and you might as well go.” 

“And you might as well find out it’ll pay to be 
neighbors with me—an’ us. An’ you’ll never see 
that Silent again. He’s put another notch in his 
gun an’ beat it. If he ever shows up aroun’ here 
again, he’ll get his good an’ proper!” 

“Did you hear me ask you to go?” cried the 
girl, clenching her fists. 

“You started all this trouble yourself, an’ now 
you want to crawl out of it!” Myrle accused. 


THE RETURN 


179 


“What’s more, we know your man Sawtelle helped 
Silent, an’ we ain’t said nothing about that— 
yet.” 

Annalee fell back, a wild look in her eyes. “You 
come here to say things like that,” she said in a 
strange voice. 

“Did I hear you mention my name?” came from 
below Myrle. 

The youth whirled and looked down at Sawtelle. 
“Oh, you?” he jeered. “You got a name?” 

Sawtelle’s sad face was stern. “What’s he been 
saying. Miss Anna?” 

The girl shook her head. She could not speak. 

“You come here to the house to make trouble 
with the women when there aren’t any men around, 
Capron?” demanded the poet. 

“Well, there ain’t none aroun’ yet, are there?” 
queried the youth sneeringly, his hand dropping 
casually to the butt of his gun. “I don’t call a 
clown a man!” 

Sawtelle appeared to ponder this while Myrle 
started to laugh. Then the poet leaped up the 
steps. The youth drew too late, for Andy’s fist, 
with the accumulated strength of an arm hardened 
by work, crashed full upon his jaw, knocking him 
back against the wall of the house. The gun 
thumped on the porch. 

Myrle came back with a bound, caught Andy 
on the cheek with a left hook and dived for the 
weapon, his face black with rage. He secured 


180 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


it, but as lie rose he came in contact with Andy’s 
right fist again. This time he was knocked the 
length of the porch, and Andy tore after him, 
kicking the weapon aside. He grabbed his antag¬ 
onist by the shoulders and threw him off the porch, 
leaping after him. As Myrle half rose, he hit him 
again, and the youth lay flat. 

Andy looked about him with bloodshot eyes. 
Then he gradually came to his senses. Mrs. Bron¬ 
son had withdrawn into the house. Annalee came 
running out, her eyes blazing wildly, holding in 
her hands the gun Andy had bought for her in 
town. 

Myrle was scrambling to his feet, dazed. Andy 
secured the youth’s gun, broke it, and spilled out 
the cartridges. He shoved it in Myrle’s holster, 
then handed him his reins. 

“Get out!” he cried hoarsely. 

Myrle gathered strength rapidly and climbed into 
the saddle. With a look of intense hatred at the 
girl and Andy, he spurred his horse cruelly and 
dashed away. 

“Now—I expect I have done it,” said Andy sor¬ 
rowfully. 

“You did just right, Andy,” said Annalee, breath¬ 
ing hard and placing a hand on the poet’s arm. 
“He’s as big a beast as Gruger.” 

Then she went into the house, leaving Andy 
standing on the ground just below the porch, with 


THE RETURN 181 

one hand on the spot on his arm which she had 
touched. 

The balance of the day passed quietly. After 
supper Annalee went to the spring for water, 
and on her way back to the house she stopped 
and stared apprehensively southward, where she 
saw Andy Sawtelle talking with a horseman. 

More trouble? She knew it was Andy’s habit 
to walk over the prairies in the twilight. Some¬ 
times he would walk until long after the stars had 
come out. Had he met some one from the Capron 
ranch? She could not make out the rider, for the 
distance was too great and the mist of the twilight 
too dense. She breathed with relief when she saw 
the rider strike off eastward and Andy start toward 
the house. 

She waited for Andy to speak when he came up 
to her. 

“That was Silent,” he said simply. 

“Silent Scott!” exclaimed the girl astonished. 
“Silent? Are you sure?” And then, realizing the 
absurd nature of the question, she asked: “Where 
is he going? Why didn’t he come up to the house?” 

“I guess he didn’t want to come up here for fear 
they’d find out he’d been here again. He doesn’t 
want to cause you any trouble, Miss Anna. Silent 
just heard a week ago that he was wanted. He’s 
been down in the Musselshell country. He’s going 
in to give himself up!” 


182 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


“Oh!” breathed the girl. “Oh, Andy! Isn’t that 
fine?” 

The poet looked at her wistfully, with a fleet¬ 
ing expression of pain in his eyes. Then: “It is 
fine, Miss Anna; and it will set him free.” 

“Free ? Oh—will they-” 

Andy nodded. “Until his hearing, anyway.” 

“But is it necessary for him to go to jail when 
he is sure of being acquitted?” 

“They’d probably admit him to bail—if he had 
it,” said Andy. “But don’t worry, Miss Anna; it’ll 
all turn out all right.’ 

The girl went into the house. “Mvrle Capron 
was right,” she thought to herself. “We are re¬ 
sponsible for all this. It wouldnt have happened 
if we had not come here in the first place. And 
Silent is giving himself up.” 

A great thrill of joy swept over her. He hadn’t 
known Lummox was dead and that the sheriff 
and his men were after him. He had ridden far 
—why he had ridden far didn’t matter. As soon 
as he had learned the state of affairs he had started 
back. He had been stealing past the place in the 
shadows of evening, avoiding her house intention¬ 
ally for her protection. And now he was riding 
to Brant to give himself up—to face any intrigue 
of his enemies, of her enemies! 

“The sheriff was right!” she exclaimed aloud. 
“I’m an accessory!” 

Her heart was beating wildly as she ran out 



THE RETURN 


183 


to where Andy Sawtelle was walking in the cool 
of the early night, across from the spring. 

“Andy,” she said, in an excited voice, “hitch 
the team for me in the morning. Pat can drive. 
I want you to stay here for mother’s protection. 
She must not be made to stand the trip, and it 
isn’t necessary-” 

“Why, Miss Anna, what are you talking about?” 

“The team—I want the team, the spring wagon, 
and Pat in the morning early-” 

“But where are you going?” 

“I am going to town,” the girl announced calmly. 

Andy was silent for a time. “Very well, Miss 
Anna, everything will be ready. And—I just no¬ 
ticed something. Look down there—down south. 
See those moving shadows?” 

“What are they?” asked the girl. 

“Capron’s cattle!” said Andy. “They’ve brought 
a big herd north!” 




CHAPTER XIX 


BRANDS OF LAW 

A S Annalee and Pat drove away from the farm 
in the morning they saw several hundred head 
of steers grazing in the south. The girl realized 
that the result of Myrle’s visit was the breaking 
of the Capron promise not to range cattle north 
of the river that season. However, with the field 
fenced in, and the posts for the fence about the 
houses in and ready for the wire which could be 
strung in a short time, she did not much care about 
the presence of the cattle. 

They drove rapidly, the girl’s aim being to get 
to town as soon as possible. 

“And, listen, Pat,” she admonished the Irishman; 
“you get no money to-day. I have my reasons, 
so do not ask for any.” 

“It ain’t money I’m lookin’ for,” Pat declared; 
“it’s a chance to paste that young hound Capron 
in the eye.” 

“Never mind,” said the girl nervously. “And 
don’t get into any fights to-day, Pat; we’ve trouble 
enough as it is, remember that.” 

They reached town a little after nine o’clock. 
Annalee instructed Pat to put up the team in the 
hotel barn; then she hurried to Neeland’s office. 


BRANDS OF LAW 


185 


The locator shook hands energetically, hut there 
was a worried look in his eyes. “What’s the mat¬ 
ter, Miss Bronson? Is anything wrong? Ain’t 
your homesteads all right?” he concluded appre¬ 
hensively. 

“It’s nothing about our homesteads,” said the girl 
tersely. She did not notice the look of relief which 
came into Neeland’s eyes. 

“Fine,” he breathed, offering her a chair. “Sit 
down, Miss Bronson-” 

“I don’t believe we have much time to lose, Mr. 
Neeland,” said Annalee crisply; “I have come here 
for a specific purpose, and as you have transacted 
some business for us, I naturally come to you for 
assistance—and I’ll pay you for your time and 
trouble, of course.” 

Neeland again showed symptoms of nervousness. 
“Yes, yes, Miss Bronson—what is it?” 

“You know Silent Scott shot that man Lummox 
—Capron’s man—and the sheriff went after him 

when Lummox died-•” The girl was having 

trouble saying what she wanted to say. 

“Yes, yes. Miss Bronson,” said Neeland in wor¬ 
ried tones. “He got away. They haven’t found 
him. Why should it bother you?” 

“He came in late last night or early this morn¬ 
ing to give himself up,” said the girl quickly. “Now, 
Mr. Neeland, we were responsible for that trouble. 
It all arose out of our filing out there and incur¬ 
ring the enmity of that man Gruger, who tried 




186 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


to frighten our carpenters away. Silent Scott called 
his bluff—if it was a bluff. That’s what led up 
to this shooting. Silent didn’t know they were 
after him. As soon as he found out, he came 
back. They’ll put him in jail until his hearing, 
anyway, unless some bail is put up, I understand. 
Vm here to put up that bail, Mr. Neeland!” 

The locator wiped his forehead. He had seen a 
shadow pass outside his window. 

“Rut, Miss Bronson, what can I do about it?” 
he asked in a querulous voice. “What can / do 
—I can’t do anything. Miss Bronson—don’t you 
see?” 

“You can find out where he is and what the 
procedure is,” said the girl scornfully. “That’s all 
I would like to have you do, Mr. Neeland. And 
I’ll pay you for it.” 

“I can’t, Miss Bronson,” said the perspiring Nee¬ 
land. The shadow had passed outside his window 
again. “My dear young lady, you must see our 
lawyer. We have a lawyer here. It takes a lawyer 
for such things, Miss Bronson. Why, they’d laugh 
at me. I wouldn’t have any standing in court.” 

“Where is the lawyer?” demanded the girl with 
a look of contempt. “You seem terribly worked up 
over this thing and-” 

“Two doors above here, Miss Bronson. You’ll 
find him up there. Lawyer Fredericks—that’s his 
name-” 


BRANDS OF LAW 


187 


But the girl was gone. She hurried two doors 
up the street to the little office of the lawyer. 

Fredericks beamed upon her and ushered her 
into his private office. 

“You are the lawyer, of course,” she began. 

“Fredericks is my name,” he said, nodding. 

“Has Silent Scott given himself up?” she asked 
abruptly. 

The lawyer raised his brows. “I believe he is 
in town intending to give himself up at justice 
court at ten o’clock. Why, Miss—ah—oh, yes, 
Bronson—are you interested in the case?” 

“I want to put up bail to keep him out of jail.” 
She was breathing fast, and her face was white. 
It was an ordeal, after all. 

Fredericks whistled softly. A faint smile played 
on his lips. “Why have you come to me?” 

“Why? Aren’t you a lawyer? Don’t you look 
after such things? What are you for?” She nearly 
shouted the question. 

Fredericks’ smile became chilly. “You are per¬ 
haps not aware that I am retained by the year by 
the Capron interests. They’d hardly wish me to as¬ 
sist in getting bail for the slayer of one of their 
men.” 

“Oh—oh!” cried the girl. Then suddenly she 
became calm. “Very well; I’ll go to the justice 
himself.” 

She walked out of the office with her head held 
high. She asked the location of the office of the 


188 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


justice, learned his name was Nichols, and went at 
once to his sanctum, which consisted of one room, 
used as a courtroom and office. 

Judge Nichols was old. His hair was white but 
wiry, and his eyebrows, by a queer coincidence, 
very nearly black. He had a fierce frown. 

“Sit down, young lady, and don’t act so excited. 
Now then, what is it?” 

“I’ve come—you see—I want—oh, no one will 
understand!” The girl nearly broke down. 

“There, there, now, miss, don’t take on that way. 
Just calm down. I’m an old man, and I under¬ 
stand all these things. I’ve been a judge around 
here for so many years I’ve forgotten when I 
started. Just you gather yourself together and 
tell me all about it.” 

“Oh, judge,” sobbed Annalee, overcome by his 
kindliness, hut still fearful that her mission would 
prove unsuccessful. “It’s—it’s that they won’t un¬ 
derstand—I’m afraid they won’t. Judge, Silent 
Scott got into that shooting trouble on our account, 
and I want to put up the hail—so he won’t have 
to go to jail and stay there till his hearing. He’s 
going to turn himself over to you to-day. He came 
as soon as he heard he was wanted. He’s coming 
into court this morning. We haven’t much left in 
the hank, judge, hut if two thousand would he 
enough, I’ll give you a check, and—oh, I know he 
would not run away-” 

She broke out in tears afresh. 



BRANDS OF LAW 


189 


The old justice took a small buckskin bag from 
a hip pocket. While the girl sobbed he opened the 
bag, took out a plug of tobacco, and cut himself off 
a generous chew. He thrust this into his left cheek, 
stowed the plug in its container, and put it away. 
Then he glared about the office and carefully wiped 
his glasses on a red bandanna handkerchief. 

“I’ve heard quite a bit about this case, young 
lady. Now I want you to tell me all you know 
about it. Just calm down and tell me everything 
you know. Take it easy, we’ve got a quarter of 
an hour yet till court. Now then-” 

Annalee told him everything, right up to the in¬ 
cident of Myrle Capron’s visit to her house the 
afternoon before. 

“And when I asked Neeland and the lawyer to 
try and arrange this for me they refused. I do 
not seem to have any friends—and I don’t care. 
I’m not just sure why I’m here, but it seems I 
should be, and-■” 

“By the heavens! They don’t own me!” ex¬ 
claimed the old justice. “I’ve been the law around 
here too danged long. And I’m through with their 
treatin’ me like a maverick-” 

He ceased speaking as the office door opened. 
Annalee turned to see Fredericks, the lawyer, enter¬ 
ing. Outside she saw Gruger’s leering features as 
he passed the window. 

Fredericks smiled at the girl perfunctorily, and 
then addressed the justice. 




190 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


“Judge, Silent Scott is in town and is going to 
deliver himself up to you in about five minutes. 
In the absence of the county attorney or his as¬ 
sistant, I am assuming the prosecution. We will 
ask that Scott he charged with murder and held 
without bail.” 

“The charge’ll be all right, I guess,” grumbled 
the judge, “but I’m not so sure about the other. 
Two thousand has been offered for security that 
he’ll show up for his hearing-” 

“You can't take it!” said the lawyer sharply. 
“There are the books that will prove it!” 

The girl looked tearfully where he pointed, and 
saw a pile of law hooks. 

The old justice rose and pointed a shaking fore¬ 
finger at the lawyer. “There’s two brands of law, 
Fredericks,” he said shrilly; “one of ’em’s in them 
law books an’ the other’s in here.” He struck 
himself over the heart with his left fist. “You’ve 
assumed the prosecution, eh? Maybe that’s all 
right accordin’ to the books, an’ maybe it ain’t. 
But I know one thing—I’m going to admit Silent 
Scott to hail!” 

“You can’t do it!” cried Fredericks. “You dare 
not do it without the consent of the county at¬ 
torney.” 

“But I’m going to do it!” roared the justice. 
“And now you get out of here!” 

Annalee half rose, words of thankfulness on her 
lips; then she sank back into her chair in a faint. 


CHAPTER XX 

DOUBTS 



HEN Annalee revived, she was alone in the 


W office with Justice Nichols. The old man was 
bending over her with a glass of water. 

“There, now, drink some of this,” he said sooth¬ 
ingly. “Maybe you better go over to the hotel an’ 
not be here when Silent comes in, eh? Don’t you 
think that would be better?” 

“Judge — is there — anything unlawful — about 
what I am doing?” asked the girl in a faint voice. 

“None whatever,” the justice assured her heart¬ 
ily. “An’ none about what I’m doing, either, I 
reckon. I never had any use for that sneaking 
half Mexican anyway, an’ I ain’t got much more 
for Fredericks. Now drink the rest of this water 
—that’s it. Do you want to stay?” 

“No—no!” cried Annalee. “Here—I made that 

out at home. The money’s in the bank here, judge. 

I am going.” She rose, swayed for a moment, and 
then walked unaided to the door, where she turned 
and looked back at the old justice who stood hold¬ 
ing the empty glass in one hand and her check 
in the other, staring at her with a whimsical smile. 

“You’re—you are a good man, judge,” she said. 

“Well, I dunno,” the old man answered, scowl- 


192 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


ing; looking about uncertainly for a place to put 
the glass. “Some say so an’ some don’t. I reckon 
most of ’em don’t. Rut I’m still judge here, an’ 
that’s about all that’s needed in this case this 
mornin’, I ’spect.” 

The girl found the bright sunshine of the street 
almost painful. Her mind again was in a turmoil. 
What had she done? She didn’t quite realize all 
that had happened in such a short space of time 
since her arrival in town. Y^hat should she do 
now? She felt faint at thought of the long ride 
home. She must rest. Yes, she was weak and 
should rest. 

She crossed to the hotel where the obliging clerk 
saw to it that she had a room at her disposal 
without delay. The porter brought up a large 
pitcher of ice water. Annalee bathed her throb¬ 
bing temples and hot brow in the cold water, and 
it made her feel better. Then she lay back upon 
the pillows and closed her eyes. The reaction 
from the strenuous events of the morning made her 
drowsy. She ceased to think of her troubles and 
lay resting quietly. 

Meanwhile there was excitement on the streets 
of Brant. It was known that Silent Scott was in 
town, had arrived early that morning, and that he 
was there to give himself up for the shooting of 
Lummox. Although most of the sympathy was with 
Scott, a majority of the citizens did not wish to 
offend Capron or incur the enmity of Gruger. 


DOUBTS 


193 


Several of the C-Bar outfit, including Myrle Ca- 
pron and Gruger, had come into town shortly after 
daybreak, hut it was known that they did not learn 
of Scott’s latest move until after their arrival. 
They had been rounding up beef cattle along the 
river to the westward, and had merely ridden into 
town for breakfast, they explained. 

In the old town there was little or no talk of 
the queer turn of circumstances. The old-timers 
knew Scott was justified in killing Lummox. It 
was a clear case of self-defense, as Lummox would 
have killed Scott if the latter had not prevented 
him. But they also knew of the feud which had 
developed to bitter proportions between Scott and 
Gruger, and they wisely refrained from taking 
sides. It was the rule of the country that such 
affairs should take such course as was directed 
by the principals. 

It was just ten o’clock when Silent Scott walked 
across the tracks from the old town to the office 
of Justice of the Peace Nichols. Many people stared 
at him, some nodded respectfully—all got out of 
his way. But none of the C-Bar outfit was among 
the spectators. 

He found Justice Nichols alone. 

“Judge, it’s a right pleasant mornin’,” he saluted 
as the old justice regarded him with a scowl. “In 
fact, judge, it seems ’most too good a mornin’ for 
a man to be coming in an’ giving himself up to 
the law.” Scott laughed bitterly. 


194 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


“You thinking of changing your mind, Silent?” 
the justice inquired. “Recause if you are, there’s 
nothing to stop you from walkin’ out that there 
door an’ hitting for the open country.” 

Scott’s face clouded. “No, I ain’t changin’ my 
mind,” he said, unbuckling his gun belt. “Couldn’t 
change it if I wanted to, I reckon.” He put the 
belt, with its holstered gun, on the justice’s desk. 

“I’m givin’ myself up for shootin’ that Lummox, 
an’ all I’ve got to say is that I can’t see how he 
dodged the right bullet so long.” 

“A-hem.” The justice cleared his throat. “What 
made you come in here an’ give yourself up, Si¬ 
lent?” 

“I reckon I wanted to save ’em the bother of 
keeping up the hunt for me,” Scott drawled. “I 
was down in the Musselshell an’ just heard a week 
ago that Lummox had kicked in. Soon’s I heard I 
started back.” 

“You didn’t have to come back,” the justice 
pointed out. 

Scott started. “Eh—no—yes. I reckon I’d have 
had to come back some time, judge.” 

“Why?” demanded the justice, gathering his 
bushy, black eyebrows into a frown. 

Scott looked at him in surprise. “Say, look here, 
judge, have I got to start right out with a cross- 
examination?” he asked complainingly. 

Rut now the justice’s eyes were twinkling. 
“Well, Silent,” he said in a tone of resignation. 


DOUBTS 


195 


“you’re more or less of a mystery to me. You ain’t 
no hand to talk about yourself or defend yourself 
when you’re blamed for—things. I don’t believe 
you’re bad, but I ain’t sure of it—understand! 
I have my doubts—both ways. But I figure there’s 
got to be something to a man when a good woman 
will come to the front for him.” 

He attempted to glare at the tall, bronze-skinned 
young man before him. 

“When you’re through talkin’, judge, maybe you’ll 
start explaining,” said Silent Scott, smiling. 

The judge ignored this. “Silent, they’re goin’ 
to put a charge of murder against you, I under¬ 
stand,” he said impressively. “There ain’t any 
charge here as yet, that being up to the county 
attorney, I guess. But, anyway, I’m goin’ to let 
you go on bail with the understanding that you’ll 
hang aroun’ here close an’ go to Choteau for the 
hearing when they want you up there. This may 
be a peculiar law angle, so far’s I’m concerned; 
but I’ve unraveled it so far’s you’re concerned.” 

“Bail?” Scott laughed heartily. “How much, 
judge?” 

“Oh, about two thousand dollars.” 

Scott laughed again. “I quit the last game with 
six hundred cash to my name, judge, an’ that’s 
the bank roll,” he said frankly. “I expect I’ll have 
to leave half of that here, or all of it, to make 
sure my horse is taken care of while I’m in the 
county hotel.” 


196 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


“A-hem.” The justice wiped his spectacles. 
“The bail has been furnished, Silent.” 

Scott stared at him open-mouthed. “What’s that, 
judge?” he asked sharply. 

Justice Nichols scowled. “You’re hearin’ ain’t 
so bad, Silent. You’ve lived in this country since 
you was born an’ you’ve heard harder things to 
hear than my voice. Your bail’s up!” 

“Who put it up?” 

“That’s different again, Silent. I don’t know as 
the party or parties who put it up would want 
me to tell.” 

“Judge, isn’t a man out on bail entitled to know 
who bailed him out?” Scott demanded. “How’s he 
goin’ to know whether to jump it or not!” 

The justice pondered this. “A-hem. Maybe 
there’s something in that. Yes, I guess you’re right. 
You should know whether to jump it or not, that’s 
a fact.” He rubbed his nose vigorously. “Miss An- 
nalee Bronson put up the bail. Silent,” he confessed 
cheerfully. 

Scott sat down in a convenient chair and re¬ 
mained motionless, as if stunned. 

“Lawyer Fredericks tried to stop it,” the justice 
explained. “She asked him to arrange it for her, 
but being tied up by the Gapron crowd, he couldn’t 
very well do it. That bunch acts as if they wanted 
to put you over for this, Silent.” 

Scott remained speechless and inactive, save for 
a single move to take off his hat. 


DOUBTS 


197 

“Miss Bronson seems a nice sort of girl,” the 
old man went on. “She drove in here this mornin’ 
after she found out from Andy Sawtelle that you 
was cornin’ in to give yourself up. The poor, de¬ 
luded female doesn’t seem to want you to go to 
jail. Think’s she and her mother are responsible 
for this business because they filed out there. 
Wants to help you-” 

“Judge, I can’t take it!” Scott blurted out. 

“Oh, you ain’t goin’ to get it. Don’t worry. I’ve 
got it, an’ it’s security that you’ll show up when 
the county attorney wants you.” 

“But I can’t let her put it up,” Scott protested. 
“You’ll have to give her back her money, judge, an’ 
take me.” 

“Can’t do it,” said the justice decisively. “She 
wants you out of jail, an’ she’s put up the money 
to keep you out. That’s her business. Now clear 
out of this office, Silent. By golly, what d’ye 
think of havin’ to chase a man accused of a shootin’ 
out of the office. Get out of here. Silent, but don’t 
forget not to go far, an’ say”—the justice looked 
at him speculatively—“what was you doing down 
in the Musselshells?” 

Scott rose with a shrug. “Robbing stages, prob¬ 
ably,” he replied sarcastically. “Has Miss—Miss 
Bronson gone home?” 

“How should I know?” cried the justice irritably. 
“It’s all I can do to keep track of cases that’s goin 9 
on in this office. Get out!” 



198 THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 

Scott slammed on his hat and walked grimly to 
the door. 

“You can take your gun along,” the justice called 
to him dryly. 

He turned back to the desk and buckled on his 
gun belt. Then he sought the street, the justice 
following his deliberate movements with a curious 
gaze. 

Annalee awakened from a doze to the realization 
that the light in the room had changed. She 
glanced quickly out of the window and saw a film 
of cloud over the sun. In the northwest the clouds 
were banked in the high skies. She looked at her 
watch and stared at its face incredulously as she 
saw that it was after one o’clock. She had slept 
three hours! 

She quickly arranged her hair and applied a 
little powder from the small vanity case she car¬ 
ried in her bag. The sleep had done her good. 
The events of the morning seemed far away. Her 
excitement was gone. Now that she reviewed what 
had happened, a flush mounted into her cheeks. 
She shrugged, and her thoughts flew homeward. 
Then she heard a low knocking at her door. 

She started to call “Gome in,” but didn’t. She 
hesitated to go to the door, although she didn’t 
know why. Then she walked quickly to the door 
and opened it. 

Silent Scott stood outside, hat in hand. 


DOUBTS 


199 


“I knocked kind of softlike several times in the 
last couple of hours, ma’am,” he explained awk¬ 
wardly; “I thought you was resting—asleep, 
maybe.” 

“I was asleep,” Annalee confessed. Strange that 
she felt no embarrassment. “Did you want to see 
me, Silent?” 

“Just a minute—if you’d come into the front 
parlor when you’re ready.” 

“I’m ready now,” she said, leading the way to 
the little room which served as a parlor. “What 
did you want, Silent?” 

“I wanted to ask you to go down an’ see Judge 
Nichols an’ get that hail money hack,” he said 
slowly, twisting his hat in his hand. 

“Oh, isn’t it necessary to put up any bail?” the 
girl asked. 

“Why-” Silent Scott swallowed hard. “Yes, 

I reckon it is, miss, but I was thinking you’d need 
the money yourself. It’s a tolerable fair-sized chunk 
to have tied up that way.” 

“We can spare it. And it won’t be tied up for 
long.” 

“Can’t tell about that,” said Scott doubtfully. 
“They might drag this thing along—on purpose.” 

“In that case we can get back the bail money 
later just as easily as now,” said the girl with a 
laugh. “Anyway, it’s just as safe in court as in 
the bank, isn’t it?” 

“Well, yes,” Scott conceded. “But there’s an- 



200 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


other side to it.” He didn’t appear sure of him¬ 
self. “It might—people talk—you know.” 

Annalee’s face suddenly went crimson. 

Scott stepped to her quickly, dropping his hat 
to the floor, and took her hands in his. 

“We understand,” he said simply. “Rut there’s 
folks that like to make talk.” 

“Let them talk—darn them!” cried the girl, with¬ 
drawing her hands. “We—my mother and I—are 
only trying to do what we think is right, Mr. 
Scott.” 

With that she hurried out of the room. She 
wanted to run—to get away! 

In the lobby downstairs she proffered money to 
the clerk for the use of the room, which he refused 
to take. She didn’t stop to argue with him, but 
made for the door. Thus she came face to face 
with Myrle Capron, who was entering. 

“Well, I see you kept your man on the street,” 
he said insolently. 

The girl started back, her cheeks aflame. Her 
man! That would be what they would say? Her 
man? 

She saw Myrle’s face suddenly blanch, heard a 
step behind her. Then a figure loomed beside her, 
an arm shot out, and the youth’s neck was seized 
in a grip of steel. 

“You know what to say, now say it!” came 
Silent Scott’s voice. 


DOUBTS 201 

“I—I—didn’t mean it, Miss Bronson—honestly I 
didn’t-” 

She fled out of the door and ran around to the 
barn. 

“My team!” she cried breathlessly to the barn 
man. “And—where is Pat?” 

“Sorry, ma’am, but some of the boys have been 
showin’ him the sights,” said the barn man; “he 
ain’t in no shape to drive.” 

“Oh—he’s—he’s-” 

“Couldn’t wake him up with a pitchfork, ma’am. 
Too bad. Don’t believe it was his fault, for he 
told me he didn’t have a cent of change.” 

“They got him in that condition to hurt me!” 
Annalee exclaimed. “Hitch up my team. I’ll drive 
myself. You can tell him to come out to-morrow. 
The walk will be good for him. I’m going home.” 

“But there’s a storm cornin’ up, ma’am; an’ these 
electrical storms out here are a holy terror-” 

“Storm or no storm, you hitch up my team!” the 
girl commanded. “I won’t stay here a minute longer 
than I have to. Do as I say or I’ll try to hitch 
them up myself—they know me, at least.” 

“All right, ma’am; you’re the boss. But I’m ad¬ 
visin’ against it. No, take it easy; I’ll hitch ’em up.” 

Fifteen minutes later Annalee drove out of town, 
her face white and set, her eyes flashing, taking 
no heed of the wind and the black clouds which 
were steadily mounting into the skies behind her. 




CHAPTER XXI 


THE STORM 


S she drove eastward along the six-mile lane 



** to where the fences had their end and the 
open prairie began, Annalee gave scant attention 
to the horses. The road was before them; they 
knew they were going home to a good barn, good 
feed, and good care, and they trotted along will¬ 
ingly without need of guidance or urging. Anna¬ 
lee was busy with her thoughts. 

She realized now that hers had been a peculiar 
procedure in the eyes of the citizens of Brant. She 
knew from Myrle’s mean, insinuating remark that 
he would cause a wrong impression whenever the 
opportunity offered. His experience at the hands 
of Andy Sawtelle and Silent Scott would make him 
more bitter toward her. So far as she, personally, 
was concerned, she did not care; but he had at 
his disposal certain tools of hand and tongue which 
could damage her interests and her mother’s, and 
place them in an unfair light before the towns¬ 
people. 

Tears of mortification came into her eyes. She 
had meant well, had thought she was doing the 
right thing. It had, at least, all seemed proper and 
fair that morning. Silent Scott had indirectly got 


THE STORM 


203 


into trouble on their account. Was it any more 
than right, then, that they—she—should attempt to 
help him? And wasn’t keeping him out of jail the 
least they could do under the circumstances? 

Yet Silent had foreseen just how the thing would 
be regarded. He had been smart enough for that 
and had urged her to withdraw the bail money. 
Could he—was it possible he could suspect she had 
any other reason for acting in his behalf? 

Her face reddened. She felt that she never 
wanted to see him again. In some way, Myrle’s 
remark had come between them. Why did she look 
at it that way—between them? There was noth¬ 
ing, had been nothing, could be nothing. Her 
mother was right. She had to remember her birth 
and breeding. She told herself this dubiously. 
Birth and breeding seemed to be so widely variant 
with this new country. It was as if they didn’t 
count. Yet, in her heart, Annalee did not actually 
believe this to be true. 

Of one thing, however, she felt sure. The im¬ 
pulse which had prompted her to come to Silent 
Scott’s aid would be misinterpreted by the towns¬ 
folk; it would be misconstrued by the Caprons, 
perhaps by Scott himself! She tried to forget the 
pressure of his hands, the look in his eyes. Yet 
she dwelt upon this memory. She hated Myrle 
Capron for having cast the shadow; and she was 
even more sorry that Silent Scott had heard him 
and had compelled him to apologize. 


204 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


She had reached the end of the lane and had 
swung out upon the winding prairie road when 
she became cognizant of the fact that it was 
growing dark. She looked about her with alarm 
and spoke sharply to the horses which were begin¬ 
ning to show uneasiness. She was in rather a 
hard situation. 

The wind was blowing gently from the east, 
but a great, black cloud was spreading over the 
sky like an inky curtain from the west. She con¬ 
sidered this phenomenon with worried interest. 
The wind was coming from the east, where the 
horizon still was bright, while the storm evidently 
was approaching from the west. It was extremely 
hot, and the land was in a queer, saffron-tinted 
shadow. The whole landscape looked weird— 
fantastic. 

As if to increase her concern she saw a rider 
coming some distance behind her. She suspected 
it was one of the C-Rar men returning home, or it 
might be Myrle Capron, or—Gruger! She shud¬ 
dered and shook out the lines on the backs of the 
horses. They were running now—running in the 
face of the hot wind. The atmosphere seemed in¬ 
sufferably oppressive. Annalee remembered the 
barn man’s warning about the electrical storms of 
the prairie country. She had heard about these 
storms, but they had not had a bad one that sum¬ 
mer. Doubtless it would come as the culmination 


THE STORM 205 

of the period of extreme heat which had begun in 
July. 

The black curtain was now directly overhead and 
rapidly flinging its skirts eastward. The girl 
looked back fearfully and saw forked tongues of 
lightning licking at the tops of the mountains. 
The rider seemed to be maintaining the same dis¬ 
tance between them. Alone on the prairie, driving 
a team which was becoming fractious, the girl felt 
a sense of relief in the sight of this solitary horse¬ 
man, whoever he might be. 

The bright strip on the eastern horizon had been 
engulfed in the gray cloud film which was the 
vanguard of the storm. In the south she saw the 
cottonwood branches thrashing about in the wind, 
displaying the undersides of their leaves like so 
many silvery spangles against the gathering dark¬ 
ness. What was that old saying in the East? 
“When you see the silver of the leaves, look out 
for storm?” Everything about and above her 
seemed formidable with foreboding. Then, sud¬ 
denly, the wind ceased. 

She looked up in surprise. The air was perfectly 
still, and the heat seemed to settle down upon her 
like a pall. It was as if she were in a vacuum, 
and it was hard to breathe. She could see the 
road, winding like a long, brown snake ahead, 
with its dust whirls dying away; every blade of 
grass appeared to stand out distinctly; the low- 
lying buttes, far beyond the homesteads, appeared 


206 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


a scant few miles away; a bird flew across her 
vision like a darting arrow, without sound, and, 
save for this, there was a singular dearth of move¬ 
ment—only the bobbing of the heads of the horses. 

The next instant there was a blinding flare of 
flashing lightning and a deafening crash of thun¬ 
der as the storm unleashed its fury. The rain came 
down with the impact of a cataract, and the wind, 
coming from the west now, hurled it in sheets 
across the prairie. 

The horses lunged forward wildly, straining at 
the traces, while the girl pulled in vain at the 
lines. She screamed as the forked tongues of 
lightning streaked the black canopy above and the 
artillery of the storm crashed and roared in her 
ears. She was wet through in less than a minute. 
The road became a running rivulet of water with 
the horses’ hoofs splashing it into her face. She 
could not hold the team; she would only struggle 
to guide the horses, to keep them in the road. 

Directly ahead was the long ridge above the 
homesteads. The girl sobbed in thankfulness for 
this. Once over the ridge, it would be but two 
miles or so to the houses. 

The rain was falling with the ferocity of a cloud¬ 
burst. The lightning was almost a continual glare, 
so short were the intervals between flashes. Thun¬ 
der rolled and crashed and reverberated without a 
let-up. The girl felt a peculiar, prickly sensation 


THE STORM 


207 


of her skin; the very air she breathed seemed 
surcharged with electricity. It had become cold. 

She was powerless to control the horses, and they 
left the road, plunging up the slope with the wagon 
careening on the unlevel surface of the prairie, 
studded with cactus clumps and rocks. Pieces of 
thick, gumbo mud flew from the wheels, striking 
the horses on their backs and adding to their ter¬ 
ror, spotting her dress, hands, arms, face, and hair. 
The wind tore her hat away and lashed the sting¬ 
ing rain in her eyes. The wagon nearly overturned 
as they topped the rise of ground and started in 
a mad dash toward the homesteads. 

In her struggle to keep her seat, Annalee lost 
the lines. She screamed with the realization that 
the team was running away. She could not see 
the houses through the blinding rain. She thought 
of jumping from the wagon, but she could not 
rise to steady herself to jump. She had to cling 
with all her strength to the seat to avoid being 
thrown over the dashboard under the horses or 
between the wheels. 

There was a momentary cessation of the light¬ 
ning, then a ball of fire seemed to burst before 
her eyes and the earth shook to the crash of sound. 
The lightning had struck somewhere ahead. The 
horses reared back, swerved to one side, and dashed 
on. She saw a shadow ahead, heard a rumble 
above the thunder. The shadow merged into lines, 
took form, and her heart stood still as she saw the 


208 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


herd of steers which had been put on the north 
range bear down upon her. 

Another shadow flashed near her and hurtled 
through the mist of rain and wind, landing upon 
the back of one of the horses. The animals veered 
sharply to the left, rearing and plunging, then ran 
out of the path of the stampeding cattle, guided by 
the man who had leaped from his own horse. 

Gradually their pace slackened. Finally they 
stopped. Annalee sat dumb, numbed in the wagon 
seat as Silent Scott climbed off the horse and 
gathered the lines. His own mount came up, and 
he quickly untied a yellow slicker from behind 
his saddle. He threw this on the seat and tied 
his horse to the rear of the wagon, keeping hold 
of the lines while he did so. Then he climbed up 
on the seat beside the girl and wrapped the slicker 
about her. 

With a sob, Annalee laid her head upon his 
shoulder. 

He held her tightly within his left arm as he 
turned the horses toward the homesteads and drove 
on through the storm. 


CHAPTER XXII 


A PROMISE 


NNALEE closed her eyes to the driving rain. 



Secure within the shelter of Silent’s arm, pro¬ 
tected from the downpour by the slicker and Si¬ 
lent’s big hat, which he had pulled down on her 
head, she lost her fear of the storm in a welcome 
sense of security. The horses obeyed his voice 
and the steady guidance of his hand upon the lines. 
He was getting wet—he was wet, soaking wet. She 
tried to put part of the slicker about him and 
heard his boyish laugh. She opened her eyes to 
see him smiling down at her, his face and hair 
dripping. 

She smiled back. There was something almost 
ludicrous in his appearance. She reached up to 
put a hand under his chin from which a veritable 
stream of water was running. He touched her 
fingers with his lips, but an instant afterward 
had to give all his attention to the horses, for 
they were not in the road, and the wagon was 
bumping along at a fearful rate. 

Then the miracle of the prairie storm happened. 
The rain lessened and the wind suddenly abated. 
The lightning stopped with almost the same abrupt¬ 
ness with which it had first flashed its warning 


210 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


message overhead. The thunder rolled and rolled, 
farther and farther away, its reverberations sound¬ 
ing like the booming of artillery in the distance; 
its rumbles and grumbles became fainter and fainter 
until they finally died away. 

With startling swiftness the skies became light 
as the rain ceased entirely. A rift of blue ap¬ 
peared above, and Annalee sat up. 

“Why—it’s all over,” she said wonderingly. 

Silent was walking the horses. Two miles to 
the southeast she could see the plowed field which 
marked the location of the homesteads. She turned 
around and looked back. The cattle had disap¬ 
peared over the long ridge. She shuddered. Never 
would she forget that sight of the oncoming steers, 
maddened by the storm and the lightning bolt, com¬ 
ing toward her, horns tossing, eyes white—and 
then the darting shadow and Silent on the off horse, 
and—safety. 

He had been the lone horseman she had seen 
following her. He had risked his life for her! If 
he had failed in his leap he would have been be¬ 
neath the hoofs of the stampeding herd in an in¬ 
stant; and she—the horses and wagon might have 
made a difference. She did not know. She looked 
up at him. 

“Did you follow me from town, Silent?” she 
asked softly. 

“Yes,” he answered without looking at her. 

“Why?” 


A PROMISE 211 

“I saw you starting out alone with this team an’ 
the storm coming on—it wasn’t safe.” 

“I know now it wasn’t. Silent, hut I—I wanted 
to get away from town. I wanted to get away— 
after what Myrle Capron said.” 

“The little rat!” muttered Silent. “But I’m glad 
he said it—in a way.” 

“Glad, Silent? Why? It was an insult.” 

“Mayhe so, Annalee, hut it was true.” 

Still he didn’t look at her, and she gazed up at 
him almost breathless. 

“True—you mean true, Silent?” 

“Yes,” he said shortly, hut in a low voice. “You 
kept your man out of jail, Annalee; that’s what 
he meant when he said you’d kept him on the 
street.” 

“But—the way he said it-” 

“That was where the rub came in.” Silent 
looked down at her. 

Annalee felt her cheeks burning. She was 
strangely thrilled—happy—uncertain. The long 
lashes dropped over her eyes. The horses stopped. 

Then she felt Silent’s arms about her. She felt 
his hand under her chin, raising her face. She felt 
hot—cold. One arm crept out of the slicker and 
about his neck as their lips met. She was still 
for a few moments, then she drew away as he 
again took up the lines. 

She opened her eyes to find the sun peeping 
through the clouds. The whole landscape was fresh, 



212 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


brilliant; blades of grass were glistening with dia¬ 
mond raindrops, the prairie was a sea of gold, 
broken only by the vivid green of the stately cotton¬ 
woods to the southward; the buttes in the east 
were glowing pinks and purples; the horizon was 
a band of silver. 

“See that, Annalee?” said Silent, pointing. 

The girl saw a thin stream of water, hardly 
moving, tracing its silvery course down toward 
the river. 

“That’s an old buffalo trail,” Silent explained. 
“They traveled single file when not disturbed and 
going to water. That path is worn until it is as 
hard as flint, almost. It’s easy to trace the buffalo 
trails when the water lays in ’em after a storm. 
They’ll all be plowed up pretty soon.” 

The information seemed irrelevant to the oc¬ 
casion, yet it appeared to fit in perfectly with his 
mood. 

“I suppose you wonder why I told you that,” he 
went on. “I mentioned it because it’s a sort of 
signmark of the country. I was born in this coun¬ 
try, Annalee. It’s all I know, an’ I think pretty 
well of it. It’s changing, an’ I reckon it’s chang¬ 
ing for the best. It’ll never be anything but the 
West, that’s sure. You’re one of the changes that’s 
come. You’ve—you’ve sort of changed me.” 

It seemed all a wonderful, puzzling adventure to 
the girl. She did not try to reason it out—to 
analyze her feelings or thoughts. It seemed good 


A PROMISE 


213 

to be there by Silent, sitting on the wagon seat 
with him, wearing his slicker and his hat. She 
marveled at this. She was glad he had followed 
her, not alone because of his rescue of her in the 
storm, but- 

She blushed again. 

“I ain’t never been around girls much, Annalee,” 
he said soberly. “I’ve done about everything men 
do in this country, except steal cattle or horses, or 
lie, or throw my gun down on somebody for the 
fun of it. I ain’t good. But the first time I saw 
you down there in the hotel I knew I’d missed 
something. Right now, I’m not so sure what it 
is—unless it’s just you. I’m sorry for what I 
did back there. But I’ll never forget it, even if 
I never see you again, an’ I don’t suppose you 
want me to—to see you again,” he added hastily. 

She tried to speak, but the words would not 
come. The world was so gloriously beautiful, and 
his voice sounded so good. 

They saw Andy Sawtelle standing between the 
two houses and her mother on the porch of her 
house as they approached. Silent urged the horses 
into a run, and they came up with mud flying 
from the wheels and the freshening wind blowing 
in their faces. 

Mrs. Bronson took Annalee in her arms regard¬ 
less of the fact that she was wet and her dress 
spotted with mud. She mutely thanked Silent with 



214 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


her eyes as Annalee pinched her cheek and told 
her that Silent had saved her life. Later, in the 
house, while she changed clothes, Annalee told her 
mother everything that had happened, everything 
except what had happened on the seat of the wagon 
after Silent had rescued her. That she kept to 
herself—and wondered at it. 

Silent came walking from the barn, leading his 
horse. The slicker again was tied to the rear of 
his saddle. Annalee came out with his hat, fol¬ 
lowed by her mother. She handed the hat to him 
without a word, her face flushed, her eyes bright. 

“Mr. Scott, I do not know how to thank you,” 
began Mrs. Rronson. “I-■” 

“Then just forget it, ma’am,” said Silent, smil¬ 
ing at Annalee. “I’m going back to town on my 
way to the county seat an’ I’ll see that your man 
Pat gets started out here all right first thing in 
the morning. I reckon Miss Rronson is right. 
They got Pat and fed him some raw stuff—some 
of the Capron crowd he didn’t know. I wouldn’t 
be too hard on him, ma’am.” 

Annalee had lifted her brows in questioning. 
“You’re going to the county seat. Silent? To 
Choteau?” 

“To find out where we—where I stand, Miss 
Bronson.” 

Sawtelle had come up and was standing near 
him. 


A PROMISE 


215 


“He neither fears his fate too much, 

Nor does he care at all 
For sheriffs, judges, and all such 
That in his way may fall.” 

Annalee looked at Andy in surprise as he recited 
this, and then, to her astonishment, he winked at 
her soberly. 

She gleaned an idea from this, however, and 
turned quickly to Silent Scott. 

“Silent, are you going into town to see any of 
the Capron men?” she demanded anxiously. 

“What business could I have with them?” he 
countered, feigning surprise. 

She walked down the steps. “Aren’t you going 
to stay to supper?” 

He shifted uneasily. “There’s plenty of time to 
get into town before supper.” 

“Silent,” she said slowly, “you must promise me 
something.” 

He twisted his hat in his hands, but did not 
speak. 

“Don’t you think you could promise me some¬ 
thing, considering—considering— everything , Si¬ 
lent?” she asked tremulously. 

“What is it?” he asked quietly, looking steadily 
into her eyes. 

“Promise me that you will have no more trouble,” 
cried Annalee impulsively. “Promise me you will 
not raise a hand against any of the Gaprons—or 
Gruger—no matter what they say or do.” 


216 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


“That’s a big order, ma’am,” he said in a low 
voice. 

“Will you promise for—for my sake, Silent?” 

Andy Sawtelle started for the barn, whistling. 
Silent looked after him with an annoyed expres¬ 
sion. Mrs. Bronson was looking on from the porch 
with a curious expression. Yet Silent had a feel¬ 
ing as if he and the girl were alone. He looked 
down into her eyes. Deep, misty wells of plead¬ 
ing they were. He held out a hand which she 
took in both of hers. 

“I promise,” he said softly. Then he turned to 
his horse. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


THE TEST 

S ILENT rode into Brant early that evening. He 
put his horse up at the hotel livery and asked 
about Pat. 

“He’s been out of here an hour,” the barn man 
explained. “Over in the old town, I guess. I gave 
him Miss Bronson’s message.” 

Scott turned toward the old part of town and 
crossed the railroad tracks with a frown on his 
face. He looked into several places, but it was 
not until he reached the Green Front that he saw 
his man. 

Pat was standing at the bar with some men, two 
of whom Silent recognized as belonging to the 
Capron outfit. He entered and sauntered to the 
side of the Irishman. The bartender was just 
serving a round of drinks, and Silent reached over 
and took Pat’s glass. 

The Irishman started back, then recognizing 
Scott, greeted him jovially. 

Scott poured the contents of Pat’s glass on the 
floor and pushed the empty glass to the astonished 
bartender. Then he addressed Pat. 

“Come over to the hotel with me an’ I’ll get you 
a room so you can rest up to-night and go back 


218 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


out to the Bronson place in the morning,” he said. 
“They need you out there, Pat, an’ there’s nothing 
in this sort of thing.” 

Pat wrinkled his brows and looked sheepish. 

“She went off an’ left me,” he flared up, “an’ 
I’m having some fun.” 

“She wanted to get home before the storm,” Scott 
told him. “The horses run away, the cattle out 
there stampeded for her, an’ I happened along just 
in time to help her out a bit. You ought to be 
ashamed of yourself, Pat.” 

“I only took two or three,” Pat grumbled. 
“Guess I must have got hold of some bad stuff. 
I could have driven her home at that, if that 
danged barn man had woke me up like he oughter.” 

“Gome on along, I’ll get you a horse to ride out 
in the morning.” 

Pat started with Scott toward the door. 

“That your guardian?” sneeringly inquired one 
of the men at the bar. 

“He’s a friend of mine,” Pat said in reply. 

“You got some queer friends,” was the jeering 
answer. There was a laugh at this. 

“You want to make trouble?” demanded Pat in a 
belligerent tone. 

“There isn’t going to be any trouble,” Silent Scott 
broke in sternly. 

“No? How do you know?” It was one of the 
Capron men who spoke. 


THE TEST 219 

Silent turned to Pat. “Did you know this fellow 
was working for Gruger?” 

“Thunderation, no!” exclaimed Pat. “Say, is 
that why you was so danged hospitable?” he asked 
the Capron man. 

The other sneered and laughed openly. “You 
didn’t figure I was buying you drinks because of 
your good looks, did you?” 

Pat strode up to him. “I’d throw the drinks 
back in your face if I could,” he said. “You ain’t 
done more’n what Fve done many a time. It never 
made any difference with me whether a man had 
money or not, when I was buying, an’ I didn’t have 
any slick reason for buy in’, either. If I’d known 
who you was I wouldn’t have stood up here with 
you.” 

The other’s face darkened. “You’ll talk yourself 
into a corral full of trouble,” he threatened. 

It looked as if Pat would strike, and Scott 
stepped quickly between them. 

“The trouble’s come an’ gone,” he said sharply; 
“there’ll be no more of it.” 

The man’s eyes had suddenly widened. He was 
looking over Scott’s shoulder, and Scott felt Pat 
touch him on the arm. He turned and saw Gruger 
approaching them. 

“Trying to stir up something with my men, Si¬ 
lent?” demanded Gruger, his eyes narrowing. 

The little group at the bar dissolved, most of the 
men sauntering to the other side of the room. 


220 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


Roth Scott and Gruger were armed, while the 
others wore no weapons. 

“Your men, with you helping ’em, can stir up 
enough trouble on their own account, Gruger,” said 
Scott, confronting the G-Rar foreman. 

“Maybe so, hut there has to be something or 
somebody to start it, an’ you’re the somebody,” re¬ 
plied Gruger darkly. 

Scott’s face went white under its tan, but he 
spoke coolly. “That’s puttin’ it square up to me, 
Gruger, but I’ve got to pass.” 

The others in the room appeared surprised. Pat 
stared at Scott with a look of wonder. Scott was 
deliberately backing down before the Gapron fore¬ 
man. 

“Good reason,” answered Gruger. “Any man 
that’ll take sides with the land grabbers an’ then 
let a woman put up bail for him to keep him out 
of jail is just plain yellow!” 

There was an ominous silence. The men in 
the room held their breath. 

Silent Scott’s eyes had narrowed to slits, and 
he was visibly struggling with himself, trying, at 
tremendous mental cost, to keep himself in check. 

“I reckon you know I’m not yellow, Gruger,” he 
said through his teeth. 

“How about Lummox?” Gruger jeered. “It took 
two of you to turn that job, an’ Lummox’s gun 
was on the floor when you drew.” 

“Lummox never did depend on his gun,” said 


THE TEST 


221 


Scott slowly. “He was a knife thrower, an’ he’d 
have got me if I hadn’t known it an’ kept right 
watchful. You know that, too.” 

“An’ I know this,” roared Gruger; “if you’re 
takin’ sides with the homesteaders, you stay in the 
other part of town, get me? We ain’t welcoming 
your kind over here.” 

Scott appeared to smile. “I’m being warned off 
this range?” he asked in a low voice. 

“The same,” shot back Gruger. 

“An’ if I was to drift over here an’ run across 
you there’d be fireworks?” Scott asked mildly. 

“You’ve said it,” snapped out Gruger. 

“Fair enough,” said Scott with a peculiar smile. 
“That’s all right with me, Gruger.” He stepped 
toward the door, then turned suddenly. 

“One of these days I’m liable to come visiting 
you, Gruger.” 

Gruger’s laugh floated out to him as he left the 
place followed by Pat. 

The Irishman walked at his side silently. “There 
was no way out of it,” he heard Scott mutter. He 
saw Scott was frowning darkly, and wondered. It 
had been a clean-cut case of one man backing 
down before another in a feud. Was Scott afraid 
of the C-Bar foreman? Pat knew, and Scott also 
realized, that the incident would be the talk of the 
town. Some would suspect that Scott had a reason 
for letting Gruger get away with his insults; but 
most would assume that Scott was afraid of the 


222 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


other. His reputation as a gunman would suffer, 
but this fact only caused Scott to smile. It was a 
reputation he had never solicited, a thing he never 
had been proud of, and which he had not tried to 
preserve. 

They came to the hotel. 

“Pat, you go in and get yourself a room and 
lay low to-night,” said Scott. “Here’s some money 
—no, that’s all right, you can pay it back to me 
later. You know by now, I guess, that the Capron 
bunch was on your trail. They wanted to keep 
you hangin’ around these places an’ away from 
the Rronsons. That ain’t fair to the girl, Pat. 
There’ll be a horse for you at the hotel barn in 
the morning. You can bring him in when you 
come to town again, or send him in with Andy. 
Will you stay straight to-night?” 

Pat promised and took the money, although he 
insisted on giving Scott an order on his wages. 

Scott went directly to the office of Justice of the 
Peace Nichols. 

“I reckon we’ve just got to turn back that 
money,” he told the justice. “Instead of helping 
things it’s makin’ ’em worse.” 

In answer the old man handed him Annalee 
Rronson’s check. “The assistant county attorney’s 
here,” he explained. “Came in a little while after 
you left, before the storm. He says they ain’t 
been looking for you lately. They’re going to 
drop the charge.” 


THE TEST 


223 


Silent Scott whistled. “Thought Capron wanted 
to prosecute,” he said, taking the check. 

The old justice frowned. “Guess they couldn’t 
convince the county attorney there was enough evi¬ 
dence. Anyway, they’re not catering so much to 
stockmen these days at the county seat. The 
homesteaders are goin’ to control the next election.” 

Scott considered this. “No,” he said finally. 
“There’s something more to it. It’s some new 
move of Gruger’s. Well, I’m not going to worry.” 

Scott took the check to Pat and asked him to 
take it out to the Bronson place with him and 
give it to Annalee. Next morning he was at the 
barn when Pat showed up. Pat rode away to the 
ranch shortly after daybreak. 

When he arrived he told Annalee what had hap¬ 
pened in town. 

The girl did not reprove him as he confessed 
that he had visited several places and had got in 
with some of the Capron crowd without knowing 
who they were. She listened with glowing eyes 
to his account of the meeting between Scott and 
Gruger. 

“I’m glad—oh, I’m so glad!” she said when he 
had finished. 

“Glad, miss? It looked mighty bad to me. Si¬ 
lent will have to go back over there sooner or 
later. He can’t get away with it unless he wants 
to be pegged as a coward the rest of his life.” 

“Never mind, Pat,” said the girl. “Silent Scott 


224 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


was braver yesterday than you or any of the 
others thought.” 

She folded the check Pat had given her absently. 

Andy Sawtelle came up with an anxious look 
on his face. “It’s the spring. Miss Anna. I don’t 
know what’s happened to it, but it’s nearly dry. 
Guess it had caught us unawares. You’ll have to 
put down a well, and meanwhile we’ll have to 
haul water from the river.” 

“We can do that, can’t we?” asked the girl. 

“Yes,” answered Andy. “But the only road is 
through the Capron place.” 

“Then I’ll go and see Capron,” the girl announced 
with flashing eyes. 


CHAPTER XXIY 


PROGRESS 

A NDY’S prediction that the spring would soon 
be dry proved true, for within a week the 
supply of water from that source was exhausted. 
The problem was rendered the more complicated 
by the fact that the horses had to be watered. 

Annalee had sent Andy into town to see the 
well drillers, and they had promised to be out to 
start drilling a well within a week, but the week 
passed without a sign of them. Andy had done 
some sleuthing along the river, but had not been 
able to find a road to water which did not pass 
through Capron’s land. 

“Does that mean that he can shut us off from 
water?” asked Annalee angrily, when Andy made 
his final report. 

“He can deny us the right to cross his land,” 
replied Andy. “There isn’t a State or county road 
to the river near here as yet.” 

“But there will be, some time,” the girl insisted. 
“It hasn’t been asked for, probably. It doesn’t 
stand to reason that the government would permit 
such a thing.” 

Andy indulged in one of his characteristic 
shrugs. “As I’ve pointed out more than once, the 


226 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


government is a long ways distant, while Capron 
is right down there by those cottonwoods.” 

“All right, we’ll go down by the cottonwoods and 
see Mr. Capron,” Annalee decided. “Hitch up the 
horses, Andy, and we’ll go this afternoon.” 

Andy appeared dubious, but he carried out his 
instructions, and they drove down to the Capron 
ranch. It was a distance of four miles from the 
gate at the edge of the timber to the ranch house 
which was situated in a level stretch of bottom 
land in the lee of a sheltering bluff, with wind- 
brakes of stately cottonwoods on either side 
stretching down to the slow-moving river. 

They passed through several green fields of grain 
in the bottoms. 

“Oats,” Andy explained. “Below here they raise 
a lot of hay.” 

“Yet they were trying to tell me nothing would 
grow around here,” the girl complained. “They 
were trying to discourage us, Andy.” 

“Maybe so,” Andy conceded. “But these are the 
bottom lands near the river, Miss Anna, and they 
seem to be better watered. The stockmen never 
have raised anything in this country except in the 
river bottoms and in coulees where there were 
springs. The government experts claim the benches 
will grow wheat, but it has to be proved.” 

“Andy,” said the girl in a curious voice, “I want 
to ask you something and I don’t want to offend 


PROGRESS 227 

you. You use much better language than most of 
the men out here. Have you—been educated?” 

The poet smiled whimsically. “My mother was 
an Englishwoman,” he explained. “She taught me 
some before she died; but the most important thing 
she taught me was the love of good books. Fve 
read quite a bit. I’ve read and I’ve dreamed. I 
guess I got most of what you might call my educa¬ 
tion by dreaming.” 

Annalee puzzled over this. Andy never seemed 
to quite explain to her satisfaction what he meant, 
and there was a note of finality to his speech which 
served to thwart further questioning. 

“Have you ever yearned to possess a—a reputa¬ 
tion for riding or shooting, or anything like that?” 
she asked timidly. 

“Well—ah—no,” replied Andy hesitatingly. “I’d 
be afraid to be quick on the draw. I’m not a 
fighter, anyway. Miss Anna.” 

“But you—you taught Myrle Capron a lesson, or 
would have taught him one if he had had enough 
sense to realize it.” 

“Those were peculiar circumstances,” said Andy 
with a frown. “It was the first time I ever en¬ 
gaged in such a business in my life.” 

“Well,” and the girl sighed in resignation, “it 
seems as if mother and I were destined to bring 
strife into the country. You heard nothing of Si¬ 
lent Scott in town?” 

Andy shook his head. “Dropped completely out 


228 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


of sight. Silent has. Mayhe he went back down 
on the Musselshell. He’s a sort of a lone rider.” 
He looked at her slyly. “Would you like to see 
him again?” he asked. 

The girl flushed. “Yes, and—no. Oh, I don’t 
know,” she confessed. “He is a man of mystery, 
it seems. I believe in him, and yet—he doesn’t 
seem to want me to. I never met a man like him. 
Do you remember, Andy, he had a bullet wound 
in his hand the first day he came to our place 
and confronted that Gruger?” 

Andy nodded silently. 

“He never attempted to explain that,” the girl 
complained. “I’ve wondered ever since, but I never 
had the temerity to ask him about it. Are they 
talking about him in town?” 

“Quite a bit. Miss Anna. Some think Silent was 
afraid of Gruger, but the old-timers know better. 
They figure Silent has a reason for letting Gruger 
get away with what he did. And they are ex¬ 
pecting to see Silent ride or walk into the old 
town some day when Gruger is there.” 

“That would mean—trouble, wouldn’t it?” fal¬ 
tered the girl. 

“More’n likely. It would be Silent’s answer to 
Gruger’s warning, and that would call for a show¬ 
down on Gruger’s part. The day Silent walks west 
across the railroad tracks in Rrant will mean gun 
play—the fastest, meanest piece of gun play Brant 
ever saw.” 


PROGRESS 229 

The girl was breathing fast. “Silent has prom¬ 
ised me,” she said softly. 

“Then, if the promise is ever broken, it probably 
will be because of you,” said Andy with a faint 
note of bitterness in his voice. 

“Oh, Andy, what do you mean by that?” the girl 
asked quickly. 

“Forgive me for saying it, Miss Anna,” said the 
poet contritely. “It slipped out. I don’t know if 
there is any truth in it or not. But I know Silent 
won’t let you suffer at Gruger’s hands.” 

“But he’s gone,” said the girl. “He wouldn’t 
know-” 

“News travels in queer ways around these 
prairies, ma’am. I have a hunch Silent will be 
on hand when you need him most—and if you 
should ever need him again.” 

Annalee felt a thrill as the result of Andy’s 
prediction, but she didn’t reply to it, as they were 
now driving up to the C-Bar ranch house. Andy 
got down and opened the gate by the barn, led 
the horses through, closed the gate, and drove 
around to the front of the house. 

“We’re here,” he said with a doubtful smile. 
“Maybe the lion isn’t in his lair, and we’ve had 
our trip for nothing.” 

As he finished speaking, however, Gapron himself 
came out the door to the porch. He stared at Anna¬ 
lee in amazement. 



230 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


The girl nodded a greeting. “I came to see you 
on a matter of business, Mr. Capron.” 

His eyes brightened with a shrewd look, and he 
rubbed his nose with a thick forefinger. Then he 
held open the screen door. 

“Suppose you come in my office,” he invited. 

After a moment’s hesitation Annalee climbed out 
of the wagon, assisted by Andy, who was the 
recipient of a scowl from the stockman. 

“I’m afraid you’ve come a little late,” said Ca¬ 
pron as the girl preceded him into the little office 
room in the front of the house. 

“Too late?” she asked, surprised, seating herself 
in the chair he indicated near the roll-top desk. 

“Yes, I’ve changed my mind,” said Capron, set¬ 
tling his big bulk in his desk chair. “I’m not in 
the market for your place—your homesteads.” 

“Rut they are not on the market,” said the girl 
with a smile. “You thought I came here to accept 
your offer for our relinquishments? That isn’t the 
case, Mr. Capron.” 

He frowned questioningly. “Then you’re here to 
make some complaints?” 

“No complaints, Mr. Capron, unless they might 
be against the well drillers.” 

“Well drillers?' I have nothing to do with any 
well drillers. Oh—oh, that’s it, eh?” He grinned 
as he comprehended. 

Annalee nodded soberly. “Our spring has gone 
dry, Mr. Capron, and the well drillers haven’t come 


PROGRESS 


231 


to put down our well. We shall have to haul 
water from the river, and the only road goes 
through your land. We are prepared to pay for 
the privilege of using the road.” 

“Not by a-” Capron bit off his words sud¬ 

denly and fell to tapping on the desk with his pudgy 
fingers. 

“There isn’t any county road to the river—as 
yet,” the girl pointed out. “If you refuse to grant 
us the use of the road I shall have to appeal to the 
authorities. We have to have water, Mr. Capron.” 

“It’s a wonder you didn’t wake up to that before 
this,” he said, scowling. “You could die of thirst 
before you could get a road opened up through 
my place.” 

“That’s true, Mr. Capron. But, of course, we do 
not intend to die of thirst. It is only a question 
of time before we will have a well down. It 
would have been down before this, but the spring 
gave out without warning, it seems.” 

Capron smiled. “Those springs up there have 
a way of doing that. Here it’s near August an’ 
been a dry season. I’m surprised they held out as 
long as they did.” 

“Mr. Capron, I don’t know that I’m justified 
in depending upon your sense of fair play, but 
I’m doing so in this instance. You broke what 
virtually amounted to a promise when you put 
your cattle up there-” 



232 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


“My foreman has charge of the range,” Capron 
interrupted. 

“But the cattle are yours, are they not?” the 
girl demanded. “They stampeded in that terrible 
storm we had a while hack and nearly ran over 
me.” She shuddered instinctively. “Now they 
have been driven back, and we are kept watching 
them. They are on our land, too.” 

“Your land is not all under fence,” Capron then 
pointed out. 

“That is true, Mr. Capron, and we are not com¬ 
plaining. You have us there. But do you think 
keeping us from water would be playing the game 
square, Mr. Capron?” 

The rancher looked at her in astonishment. 
“You’re learning fast, girl,” he said gruffly. “No, 
I reckon I can’t keep you women from water.” 
He considered this. “But you mustn’t threaten me 
with county roads an’ such,” he added grimly. 

“I am not threatening, Mr. Capron. What ar¬ 
rangement can we make about pay for use of your 
road to the river?” 

“Keep the gates closed,” snapped out Capron; 
“that’s all.” 

“That will be done,” said Annalee, rising. “We 
thank you, Mr. Capron.” 

“What are you going to plant in that patch you’ve 
plowed up there?” the stockman asked. 

“Winter wheat,” replied the girl. “Pat starts 
putting it in next week.” 


PROGRESS 233 

“Well, girl, I hope you get a crop,” said Capron, 
very much to her surprise. 

“I thank you again,” she said cheerfully. 

“You needn’t thank me; thank my banker,” an¬ 
nounced Capron. “He says this land is going to be 
worth something for farming. I think he’s crazy, 
but I’m willing to be shown.” 

“Then you will not resent it if others locate 
up there where we are?” 

“I’m not answering that,” he retorted, leading the 
way to the door. 

Annalee left the Capron ranch in a very puzzled 
frame of mind. She told Andy of her interview 
with the rancher and Andy gave vent to a soft 
whistle. 

“You had him when you put in that dig about 
playing the game square,” he observed. “Rut I 
don’t just understand his come-down that other 
way.” 

“Anyway, it looks as if he did not intend to 
bother us any more,” said the girl in a hopeful 
voice. 

“I don’t think we’ll have to reckon with Capron 
so much as with young Myrle and Gruger,” said 
Andy thoughtfully. “Gruger’s made it a personal 
issue between himself and Silent Scott, and I take 
it he figures anything he can do to make trouble 
for you is hitting Scott in the back. He’s that 
narrow.” 

With this remark of Andy’s a great light dawned 


234 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


on Annalee. It was true that Silent Scott had 
brought Gruger’s wrath down upon his head by 
interfering in her behalf and her mother’s. This 
had served to distract the C-Bar foreman’s atten¬ 
tion from them to their champion. Now she saw 
that the acts directed at them were indirectly 
aimed at Silent. But if Silent remained away, 
would there be further trouble? She hoped he 
would stay away. But she bit her lip at the 
thought. Did she want him to remain away? 
She was silent for the rest of the ride back to the 
homesteads. 

Andy drove in to town next day and secured 
several large barrels which had been soaked. The 
following day he and Pat drove to the river for 
the first load of water. They saw no one and were 
not molested. But this served to make Andy uneasy. 

The well drillers came at the end of the week, 
however, and began to sink for water. 

Annalee, herself, walked about holding the 
crotched 'willow stick, knuckles up and palms in¬ 
ward, and found that wherever she went it turned 
downward in spite of all her efforts to keep it 
rigid, point outward, indicating water. 

They started the well between the two houses. 
At a hundred feet they had an abundance of 
good water, but the well, casing, and pump proved 
exceedingly expensive—expense which they had not 
originally figured on. 

Andy had not the heart to tell them that their 


PROGRESS 


235 


homesteads should he surveyed before the fence 
was all built. However, with the fences about the 
plowed space and the houses, it was decided not 
to build more until the following spring. 

Early in August Pat put in the crop of winter 
wheat. Fall came on apace, and almost in a 
single day, early in September, the change in the 
seasons became apparent. Pat continued plowing, 
however, outside the fence until the middle of 
October. Then he quit, announcing his intention 
of hitting South with the blackbirds. Andy began 
hauling coal from town to supply their winter 
needs. 

And there was no word of Silent Scott. 


CHAPTER XXV 

A NEW MENACE 

E VERYTHING appeared propitious as fall wore 
on. The wheat came up and made a sea of 
living green against the far-flung gold of the rolling 
prairie land. It was thick and several inches high 
when the first flurry of snow came. 

Both Annalee and her mother marveled at the 
wheat and expressed the fear that it would be killed 
during the long winter ahead. 

“It would have to be a mighty hard winter to 
kill that stand,” Andy explained. “The snows 
protect it, and melt and soak in to water it. Pat 
plowed deep, and that’s a big thing in its favor 
—and he sowed thick. With any rain at all next 
June that wheat will run around forty bushels 
to the acre.” 

“And that will mean that there will be some 
money coming in instead of all going out,” said 
the girl with enthusiasm. 

Her mother did not altogether share Annalee’s 
optimism. It had proved a very expensive business, 
this making of a farm out of raw prairie land. 
Their balance in the bank was now less than two 
thousand dollars, and a good sum went for coal 
and provisions, which they stocked in quantity, 


A NEW MENAGE 


237 


during the next fortnight. There was the balance 
of the fencing to figure on in the spring, also. 

Andy tactfully explained that it would probably 
be necessary to call in surveyors to make sure that 
the homestead boundaries were correct. 

This unexpected item of expense caused Mrs. 
Bronson to throw up her hands in despair. 

“If we shouldn’t get a crop, we’ll be ruined!” 
she exclaimed. “Andy, what would the govern¬ 
ment do in such a case?” 

Andy’s characteristic shrug was an eloquent an¬ 
swer. “The government only guarantees you title 
to the land if you live up to the requirements,” 
he said with a smile. “But you can prove up in 
fourteen months by paying a dollar and a quarter 
an acre, and then you could borrow some money 
from the hank on it, I suppose.” 

“Mortgage it,” said Mrs. Bronson with a shudder. 
“That’s what a great many will probably have 
to do; but suppose they lack the capital to pay a 
dollar and a quarter an acre?” 

“It takes capital to make a farm out of a 
homestead,” replied Andy. “It seems to me that 
the big trouble is that the cost of the thing wasn’t 
properly explained. There’s people filed on claims 
out here that are working right now for day’s wages 
and haven’t got twice the filing fee in bank. 

“There’s clerks, Mrs. Bronson, who have never 
had a day’s experience on a farm that have filed 
in this big rush. There are school teachers who 


238 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


depend on teaching the schools around here for 
enough to prove up on homesteads. Most of the 
folks who came out to file were thinking only of 
the small filing fee. They understood that they got 
the land for sixteen dollars and let it go at that. 
The expense of getting located, of building the 
shack, of fencing and plowing and seeding, of wells 
and coal, even of food was put in the background 
against the lure of that ‘Free Land’ advertisement.” 

“That’s what caught us, Andy,” Annalee put in 
cheerfully. “Anyway, we’re going through with it. 
We may end up broke, hut we’ll have something 
that looks like a farm when we do end up. I 
believe it’s going to be a good year, next year, 
anyway.” 

Andy looked at her in frank admiration. “That’s 
the pioneer spirit,” he told her. “And that’s going 
to be the case with every homesteader in this coun¬ 
try—hope for a good year. You see they’ve never 
had a taste of the hot winds—nor the cold winters. 
It gets down to fifty or more below here sometimes, 
and—we have blizzards.” 

The girl looked at him in disapproval, while Mrs. 
Bronson sighed. 

“I hate cold weather,” said Mrs. Bronson. 

“Now, Andy, you’ve been enough of a kill-joy,” 
the girl accused. “Suppose you tell us of the 
prairies in spring—that’s poetical and pleasant.” 

The poet’s face broke into a smile. “I could 
tell you of the prairies in spring by the hour,” 


A NEW MENACE 


239 


lie said dreamily, “but right now I think you and 
your mother should be told something to prepare 
you for the winter, although spring comes in the 
winter frequently at that, you might say.” 

“Is that another of your enigmas, Andy?” scoffed 
the girl. 

“No.” Andy shook his head gravely. “A blizzard 
in this country is the terror of the winter. They 
l? af three days or more. You’ll see me putting 
up wires from your house to your mother’s and 
from both houses to the bam and my place over 
there. There’ll be wires to the well-” 

“For goodness sakes, Andy,” laughingly inquired 
Annalee, “are you going to install telephones?” 

“Not telephones, but a means of communication 
just the same. When a good blizzard comes swoop¬ 
ing down from the north you won’t be able to 
see six feet in any direction in it. The wires 
are to follow to the different spots so you won’t 
get lost. Folks have died in blizzards because they 
got lost within a few feet of a house or bam and 
wandered around this way and that, and in a 
circle, till they froze to death.” 

Annalee turned to him with a sudden change of 
expression. Her face was serious, and she regarded 
him with a measure of astonishment. 

“You can’t live in that half-tent house all winter. 
It’s miserable of me, but I’d forgotten about your 
quarters. You’ll have to put a board roof on that 
place out there and line it with tar paper or some- 



240 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


thing, and put in a stove right away. Why didn’t 
you say something?” 

Andy evaded her eyes. “I’ve slept in tents in 
the winter,” he confessed. “That place won’t be 
so bad. I’ve banked up the earth around it which 
fixes the floor. It’ll be all right. And I forgot to 
tell you about the spring coming in the winter. It’s 
the Chinook wind. Miss Anna. It may be thirty 
below zero and with a foot or two of snow on 
the ground when the Chinook starts to blow from 
the southwest. In half a day it’ll be above zero, 
and the snow’ll be melting fast.” 

“Is that an Indian fairy tale?” the girl demanded 
dubiously. “It sounds like one.” 

“It is a fact,” said Andy earnestly. “Snow and 
ice and cold disappear like magic when the Chinook 
wind begins to blow. When the blizzard is over the 
temperature will drop, but sooner or later the 
Chinook will begin to blow, and it’ll be as balmy 
as spring in a few hours. The wind is cold at first, 
blowing across the snow, but it warms up grad¬ 
ually till it’s April weather. The Chinooks are 
what made this such a good cattle country.” 

“Well, anyway, your house has to be fixed,” the 
girl persisted. “You’ll have to go to town and get 
the lumber and what you need to-morrow—those 
are my orders, Andy.” 

“It’ll make that much more expense that could be 
avoided,” Andy pointed out. 

Annalee looked at him in surprise at his wistful 


A NEW MENACE 


241 


look and voice. “Why, you’re not trying to save 
expense for us at the cost of your meager comforts 
here, are you?” 

His look was humiliating, but something in his 
pleading gaze made the girl flush. She turned away. 

“You will have to fix it up,” she insisted. “Mother 
and I would be worried, and from what you say 
there will be enough worry from the winter not 
to take on any more. You must bring back a small 
stove for your quarters, too.” 

Andy bowed meekly. It was an example of his 
odd courtliness which to Annalee had always seemed 
strangely out of place with his surroundings. A 
sudden impulse seized her. 

“Andy, why don’t you file on a homestead your¬ 
self?” she asked. 

He looked at her in astonishment. “I can’t afford 
it, in the first place, and, in the second place. I’m 
not a farmer.” 

“But you’ve been doing so well here; and you’d 
have the land tied up, at least. Maybe by the 
time you started living on it you would be more 
inclined to do so.” 

“There are enough of them filing now to tie 
up the land,” he observed with a frown. “If I 
were to file, I’d keep my quarter section all my 
life no matter' what I was offered for it.” 

He was off with this puzzling remark which 
Annalee construed was intended to convey some of 
his affection for the country in which he had always 


242 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


lived. Were they all like that, she wondered? 
She smiled as she remembered the statement of 
Mrs. Clarendon, wife of the cattleman, who had 
said they were going to California because they 
had earned it. 

Rut Andy’s remarks about the severity of the 
Northern winters caused her to think a lot, and her 
mother was much worried. 

“We are so far from town and doctors, or any 
kind of help if we needed it badly,” was Mrs. 
Bronson’s complaint. 

Men from the C-Bar came and drove away the 
cattle. They did not come near the house, how¬ 
ever. Annalee thought this was further evidence 
of a more liberal attitude on the part of Capron, 
but Andy explained that they were driving the 
cattle to town for shipment to the Chicago market. 
He explained that Gruger would probably travel 
East with the stock shipment and be gone about 
two weeks. This would be followed by two weeks 
of celebration in town, so they could expect no 
molestation from that source for at least a month. 

Andy fixed up his quarters and installed a stove. 
He had a table which was littered with books 
and papers, and Annalee, on her visits there, fre¬ 
quently found scraps of paper with verses written 
upon them. Some of the verses she was surprised 
to find quite good. 

He brought in prairie chickens and ducks which 
he shot in the brush and on the river. Then came 


A NEW MENAGE 


243 


a night when they heard the honking of wild geese 
in the sky, and Andy announced they were flying 
south, ahead of a storm. His prediction proved true, 
for two days later a storm arrived, with snow and 
cold, although it was hardly a blizzard. It was the 
real advent of winter, however, and afterward there 
was continual cold weather. 

These were days of loneliness when they saw 
no one abroad upon the plain. Both women yearned 
for the company of other women, for the chance 
to gossip, to compare experiences, and enjoy the 
companionship that women love. Andy, with noth¬ 
ing to do except take care of the horses and attend 
to the chores, became morose and taciturn. But as 
Thanksgiving approached and Annalee announced 
plans for a big dinner of turkey and other good 
things, he became more cheerful and entered en¬ 
thusiastically into the plan. 

Four days before Thanksgiving Annalee sent Andy 
into town with a long list of provisions and deli¬ 
cacies to bring back for the feast. 

“And listen, Andy,” she said, “if you want to 
stay in town overnight and come back to-morrow, 
it will be all right. Here’s a check for your wages, 
too. And, Andy, if you should—hear any news— 
keep your ears open.” 

She looked at him wistfully, and Andy nodded 
knowingly and looked aside. He drove rapidly 
away without further speech, and Mrs. Bronson 
shook her head. 


244 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


“Andy is in love with you, Anna, dear,” she said 
softly. 

“Mother! That is preposterous! He’s never said 
anything or looked-” 

“Oh, yes, he has looked, dear; but you haven’t 
seen him. He’s been careful to guard against that.” 

“I think you are jumping at conclusions,” said 
the girl irritably. “I won’t talk about any such a 
thing. Andy has too much sense.” 

“And he has a silent, peculiar nature,” observed 
her mother. “He is deep.” 

The next day dawned cloudy, and both women 
searched the skies anxiously. Gradually the skies 
became gray and cold, and at noon the girl cried 
to her mother to come to the door. Then she 
pointed toward the northeast, where a gray veil 
was creeping across the prairie. 

Her mother nodded and looked quickly toward 
the road to town. But there was no sign of Andy 
returning. 

“It’s a blizzard, mother,” said the girl in a 
worried voice. “I hope Andy will get back before 
it reaches here.” 

But an hour went by without a sign of Andy, 
and the blizzard raced down upon them. 



CHAPTER XXVI 

A MAN IS PROVED 

/^VN the way into town Andy Sawtelle hummed 
^ softly to himself. At intervals he looked into 
his inside coat pocket where a number of folded 
sheets of paper reposed beside the list of Thanks¬ 
giving provisions which he was to buy. He seemed 
fearful of losing these sheets, and his eyes glowed 
and sparkled with unusual luster each time he 
peered into the pocket. 

He drove fast and seemed in unusually good 
spirits, as if the approaching holiday had worked 
an agreeable change in him. 

“ThereTl be no staying in town overnight for 
us,” he said aloud. 

His eyes clouded as he remembered Annalee’s 
statement that he might do so if he wished. He 
knew the purport of her words. She was agreeable 
that he spend his check as he wished. But Andy 
had no desire for a celebration; and he was hurt 
to think that the girl might have ascribed his 
preoccupied air of late to a wish to engage in a 
session in the resorts of Brant. He patted his 
bulging inside coat pocket and smiled whimsically. 
They did not know; but when they found out- 

An hour before noon he arrived in town and 



246 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


put up the horses at the hotel barn. Then he pro¬ 
ceeded immediately to the general store, where he 
left the order to be filled. After this he went 
to the hotel for dinner, and then he began a round 
of the various resorts in both sections of the town. 
He refused to drink and took the gibes of ac¬ 
quaintances good-naturedly. 

In the Green Front he saw Myrle Capron at one 
of the gaming tables. The boy’s face was flushed, 
and his eyes shone unnaturally bright. Andy sur¬ 
mised he had been drinking, and as if to confirm 
this conjecture Myrle at that moment called to 
the bartender to bring him a “snort.” 

The youth hadn’t seen him; in fact, he saw no 
one outside the ring of grim faces at the table. 
Then Andy noticed the boy bet a stack of blue 
chips amounting to a hundred dollars, at least. 
He gasped with surprise and dropped into a chair 
to watch the play. He had heard that young Capron 
was a slave to the tables, but he had never known 
him to play so heavily. 

For some time he watched the game silently, and 
twice Myrle Capron bought chips. He was buying 
two hundred and fifty dollars’ worth at a time. 
It was apparent to Andy from the number of house 
“boosters” in the game that the boy was being 
taken for his roll. Probably the game had run 
all night. 

There was every indication by the looks of the 
players and their actions, that they had been sitting 


A MAN IS PROVED 


247 


a long time. In that case, if Myrle had been 
losing steadily, the youth must he several hundred 
dollars loser—perhaps several thousand! His sea¬ 
son’s wages? Andy was aware that the boy played 
steadily, and he did not believe that he would 
have that amount of money coming to him at the 
end of the season. He was inclined to draw his 
wages as fast as he earned them. When Andy 
finally left the place the boy was buying more 
chips and demanding the services of the bartender. 

A short distance across the railroad tracks in 
the new section of town, Andy met Neeland, the 
locator. 

Neeland was all smiles and shook hands en¬ 
thusiastically with the poet. 

“Have you heard the news?” he demanded. 

“Maybe so, maybe not,” replied Andy, surprised 
at the locator’s genial manner. “Which particular 
bit of news are you all heated up about?” 

“You haven’t heard it,” said Neeland, taking his 
arm and leading him in the direction of his office. 
“Come on down to the place, and I’ll spill it. It 
means quite a thing for me and for you people out 
there.” 

Andy pricked up his ears at this. 

“Listen,” said Neeland, when they were in his 
little office, “Capron has seen the big light!” 

Andy looked at the locator with suspicion. He 
had never known him to be under the influence 
of liquor so early in the day. 


248 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


“Are you starting on your Thanksgiving cere¬ 
mony three days in advance, Neeland?” he asked 
accusingly. 

Neeland laughed excitedly. “Nothing like that,” 
he denied. “Listen, Andy, Capron has come to his 
senses. The bank has finally hammered into him 
the fact that the homesteaders coming in is going 
to put the price of deeded land way up above what 
it’s worth for grazing. He’s put his ranch on the 
market!” 

Andy whistled. “So that’s why he was so nice 
about the water!” he exclaimed. “And that’s why 
he told Miss Anna he hoped she would get a good 
crop. He thinks that a good crop up there would 
help him to sell his ranch for farm land.” 

Neeland nodded and grinned broadly. “That ain’t 
all, nor half of it,” he declared. “He’s already 
sold a third of it; closed the deal a few days 
ago.” He waved an arm in triumph. 

“Get the money for it?” Andy asked. 

“I don’t know that part of it,” Neeland answered. 
“He might have got some of it, but whether he did 
or not, he’ll get it all. A company bought it to 
cut up into farms and exploit. They’re figuring 
on buying all of it later.” 

Andy was thinking rapidly. Did this explain 
why Myrle Capron was gambling so heavily? Had 
he received money from his father? Suddenly he 
thought of something else. 


A MAN IS PROVED 


249 


“How is all this going to affect the Bronsons, as 
you hinted?” he asked. 

“That’s the part of it you haven’t heard,” said 
Neeland, grinning. “Capron don’t care how many 
people file out there now, and I’m taking in a big 
party to locate within a week!” 

“Thanks for that,” said Andy dryly. “For the 
sake of the women folks I’ll be glad to see neighbors. 
What does Gruger think of all this?” 

Neeland’s face clouded, and he looked hurriedly 
out the window. His fingers tapped nervously on 
the desk, and he regarded Andy with a worried 
expression. 

“Gruger’s been wild about it,” he confessed. 
“Went on a big tear as soon as he heard it. Knows 
it means his job and blames the Bronsons and— 
and me!” Neeland got the last out with an effort. 

“If he blames you, it’s a wonder he hasn’t tore 
into you already,” observed Andy. 

“Well—he—he’s sort of had something on me— 
that is, he thinks he has,” stammered the locator, 
wiping his forehead. 

“How’s that?” demanded Andy. 

“Oh—nothing. I shouldn’t have mentioned that.” 
Neeland rose and began to pace the room nervously. 
“It’s nothing I can’t fix as soon as he’s calmed 
down and maybe out of the way.” 

“Look here, Neeland,” said Andy sharply, “what 
are you getting at? Is it something in connection 
with the Bronsons?” 


250 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


“It’s nothing I’m going to talk about now,” said 
Neeland firmly. “Later, perhaps; but Gruger’s in 
town somewhere, and I’m not going to take a 
chance on stopping any bullets. He’s in a shooting 
mood, that’s all. This business has got down ’way 
under his skin. He was making it a matter of 
his own to keep the homesteaders out of that north 
piece, and now his schemes have gone by the board. 
Besides that, he’s just pouring down the raw 
liquor, and that’ll drive any man crazy. I tell you 
he’s dangerous and-” 

“And you’re just naturally scared to death of 
him!” cried Andy in a tone of contempt as he 
rose to go. “Neeland, if you’ve pulled anything 
crooked out there, you’re liable to the government. 
There’s fire on all sides of you. I remember what 
you said last spring, and I take it you figure to 
locate this bunch out there and then beat it. But 
you may have to face the music yet, if anything’s 
wrong, and you better be fixing to set yourself 
straight.” 

Andy left the office with a thoughtful face. He 
walked up and down the street for a time, and 
then he went to the bank and cashed his check. 
After a trip to the barn to leave instructions regard¬ 
ing the care of the horses, he went to the depot, 
where he took the afternoon train for Great Falls. 

“Going to have to stay overnight, after all,” he 
said grimly to himself. 

In the city, late that afternoon, he hurried to the 



A MAN IS PROVED 


251 


land office where he remained for half an hour. 
There was no train north that night, so he stayed 
in the city and took the first train out in the 
morning. 

He was worried about the weather and was again 
guarding the inside pocket of his coat carefully, 
for there were other papers there besides the sheets 
he had brought with him from home. 

By the time he had reached Brant, the blizzard 
was sweeping down. He hurried to the barn for 
the horses and drove around to the store for the 
supplies. He had loaded them into the wagon and 
covered them with a tarp, when he saw a familiar 
figure in the swirling snow in the street. 

For some moments Andy hesitated, a variety of 
expressions flitting over his face. The snow swept 
down the street on a terrific wind while he strug¬ 
gled with his thoughts. Then, with a grim look 
in his eyes he ran after the figure which had 
passed. 

Silent Scott stared at him in wonder as he gripped 
his arm. 

“What’re you doin’ in town?” he demanded. 

“Came in for the Thanksgiving supplies,” yelled 
Andy against the blast. “Come in somewhere; I 
want to talk to you.” 

“You figuring on startin’ hack—now?” shouted 
Silent in his ears. 

“Yes—soon’s I’ve talked with you.” 

Silent took him by the arm and led him back 


252 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


to the wagon. He climbed into the seat and took 
up the reins himself. Against Andy’s shouted pro¬ 
tests he drove around to the barn. 

“Put ’em up,” he ordered the bam man crisply. 
Then, turning to Andy: “Are you a plumb fool? 
How far do you think you’d get in this after you 
left the lane? You couldn’t see ten feet; you 
couldn’t see past the heads of the horses in that 
out there. It’s a shame the women are out there 
alone, but you’ll have to wait till it slacks up a bit 
before you try it—an’ I’ll go with you!” 

Something like agony was in Andy’s eyes, but he 
managed a shrug and then faced Silent bravely. 

“All right,” he said in resignation. “And now. 
Silent, I want to talk to you.” 

They beat their way from the barn to the hotel, 
where they sat for an hour in the lobby while 
Andy talked feverishly. 

Silent rose, then, with a scowl. “I’m goin’ to 
talk to Neeland,” he announced. 

“I’ll go with you,” said Andy, and he followed 
him out of the door. 

They forced their way across the street to Nee- 
land’s office and found him in. 

The locator’s face paled when he saw Scott, but 
he invited them to sit down and tried to appear 
composed. 

Silent dropped into a chair and rolled a ciga¬ 
rette before he spoke. 

“Neeland, we’re here for a show-down,” he said 


A MAN IS PROVED 253 

suddenly. “We want the whole story about your 
little mistake out there at the Bronsons.” 

The perspiration stood out on the locator’s fore¬ 
head, and he wiped it hastily. 

“All right,” he said in a strained voice. “Wait 
till I get my pipe.” 

He stepped into the little living room at the rear 
of his office. 

Scott looked at Andy and smiled. He smoked 
idly while they waited. Then they felt a sudden 
draft of cold air. 

Silent Scott leaped to his feet and strode into 
the living room, Andy hurrying after him. They 
found the rear door open. Scott slammed it shut. 
Neeland had gone. 

For several moments the two looked at each other. 

“I suppose he’s hit it over into the old town,” 
said Andy. 

“That’s about it,” Scott agreed. 

“And Gruger’s there!” cried Andy. 

“Sure,” drawled Silent Scott; “that’s why he 
went!” 

Andy stared at him, white-faced. 

Silent strode to the door. 

“Where are you going?” cried Andy. 

“I’m going after Neeland,” Silent called back 
sternly. 

“Wait!” shrilled Andy, as he ran to Silent and 
grasped him by the shoulders. “He’ll be with 
Gruger. He’s sure gone to Gruger, thinking that 


254 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


if you follow him there’ll be trouble and then he 
can squeal his story to the one that comes out best. 
It’s a trap, Silent; it’s a trap!” 

Silent Scott stood with his hand on the knob 
of the door. 

“Surely you can see that,” Andy pleaded. 

Then the poet stepped back with a cunning look 
in his eyes. Suppose Silent were to go over there. 
It was bound to mean trouble. And Gruger might 
kill him! If not, and Annalee knew Silent had 
gone there- 

Andy struggled with this thought as Silent Scott 
stood in indecision. Just a word of encouragement 
and he would be gone, and Annalee Rronson would 
think he had betrayed her trust. Andy looked about 
him with unseeing eyes. In his heart was a great 
yearning. He struggled with his secret—the secret 
which had changed his life. Should he let Silent 
go? Then his hands dropped to his sides and he 
leaned wearily on a chair. 

“Silent,” he said softly, “if you go over there 
it will mean trouble with Gruger. Do you remember 
your promise to Annalee? It’s one fine thing that 
she cherishes. This—would destroy something in 
her heart, Silent. You—you just can’t go!” 

Scott turned slowly away from the door. He 
stepped to Andy and put his hands on the droop¬ 
ing man’s shoulders. 

“You’re right,” he said simply, as Andy slipped 
down into the chair. 



CHAPTER XXYII 


INTO THE STORM 

A LL that long weary afternoon and evening Silent 
** Scott and Andy Sawtelle waited in the lobby 
of the hotel with alternate trips to Neeland’s office 
to see if the locator had returned. These trips 
were futile, and Scott struggled mightily with his 
desire to cross into the old town. He was aided 
in his resolve to keep his promise to Annalee by 
Andy, who frequently spoke a word in commenda¬ 
tion of Silent’s decision. 

Persons in the hotel lobby and bar looked at 
Silent in a queer way. They knew of Gruger’s 
threat. And Silent, conscious of the undercurrent 
of thought which was damaging his previous repu¬ 
tation for courage, avoided their eyes, and this made 
it appear as if he felt guilty of the weight of 
cowardice. 

“Great guns!” he groaned to Andy. “This is 
awful. It’s putting a man in a hard situation for 
sure, Andy. It ain’t that I’d openly seek trouble 
with Gruger or that I want to smoke him up; it’s 
just that people think I’m afraid—that’s what they 
think.” 

Andy consoled him with the thought that he was 


256 THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 

showing greater bravery than if he crossed the 
tracks. 

“Do any of ’em know that, or think it?” asked 
Silent scornfully. 

“Some day theyTl learn the truth—they’re bound 
to,” Andy pointed out. 

“Some day,” said Silent in deadly seriousness, 
“I’m goin’ to have to meet Gruger. I’m goin’ to 
have to meet him over in old town in his own way 
at his own game. It’s in the pictures, an’ we can’t 
wipe it out.” 

Andy was silent in the face of this prediction, 
for in his own heart he felt this to be true. It 
was the code. Newcomers might not understand 
it, but they couldn’t overcome it. It would just 
have to be. 

He looked at the tall, well-knit figure of Silent 
Scott in admiration. Women liked this kind of 
man, and men respected him. Andy suddenly felt 
a pang because he, too, was not this type of man. 
He pressed the bulge in his coat pocket and looked 
waveringly at the bar. 

“Silent,” he whispered, “I’m going to take a 
drink.” 

“Why not?” asked Scott with a look of surprise. 

Why not, indeed, thought Andy. That was it. 
Why not? He realized that the thing that kept 
him from the bar was the thing that kept Silent 
from the old town. Only it was different. Annalee 
did not know of it—she didn’t know of this thing 


INTO THE STORM 


257 


he had promised himself because of her. Andy 
suddenly felt a thrill of joy in realization of this 
fact. He turned to Silent with a smile. 

“You know the old saying, ‘It’s death to drink 
in a blizzard,’ ” he said jokingly. He turned his 
gaze away. 

“You’re queer, Andy,” observed Silent. “I guess 
that’s because you’re a poet.” 

Andy smiled, hut made no reply to this. 

Outside, the blizzard swept down the street on a 
stinging wind straight out of the north. Signs 
rattled as the blast shrieked past, and most of 
the time it was impossible to see across the street. 
The temperature was dropping, and men were bun¬ 
dling themselves in fur coats and caps and over¬ 
shoes. It was a wild, fearful storm, such as the 
northern prairie country often knows in November. 

Twenty-five miles to the eastward the world 
was a swirl of white. Roads were covered with a 
raging sea of drifting snow. Cattle drifted blindly 
before the wind, but no human could live in such a 
storm. 

In this sea of white, Annalee Rronson’s little 
house shook in the force of the wind. The girl 
peered fearfully out into that raging maelstrom 
with terror gripping at her heart. On her bed lay 
her mother, hysterical at first when she realized 
that Andy might have been lost in the storm, sick 
and numb now that they were alone, cut off from 
the rest of the world as completely as if they were 


258 THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 

on top of the highest peak of the Rockies, invisible 
in the west. 

The girl tried to cheer her mother, but her own 
torment of worry shone in her eyes, and her words 
proved of no avail. Then, as she looked at her 
mother’s white face on the pillow, she fell on her 
knees beside the bed and broke out into sobbing. 
Her mother laid a trembling hand on the girl’s head. 
This nearly maddened Annalee, and she was still 
more terrified at the thought that she might break 
down herself in the crisis. This thought, however, 
lent her strength. 

“Mother,” she said in a stronger voice, “we are 
very foolish. We are both forgetting something. 
God is still with us in this storm. He hasn’t for¬ 
saken us. Why, mother, it is really God’s storm! 
He is showing us His power, and He wouldn’t 
let Andy die in it. I just know He wouldn’t, 
mother.” 

And then Annalee knelt by the bed, and her 
voice rose in prayer above the shrieking of the wind. 

It gave her strength, and she prepared some tea 
which her mother drank. 

“We are safe, mother,” she said, striving to put 
a sincere note of confidence into her voice. “We 
are in a house, protected; we have a fire and 
food, and this storm can’t last forever. Why, 
we were shut up in the train nearly five days 
coming out here and didn’t think anything of it. 
The blizzard can’t last as long as we were in the 


INTO THE STORM 259 

train. Let’s play we’re in a train going somewhere, 
mother; that’s what we’ll do.” 

All the balance of the afternoon the girl talked 
encouragingly and read aloud. It was the wild 
howl of the wind which made it hard; the shrieking 
of the icy blast and the fact that nothing could 
be seen out of the windows. 

It became dark early, and the girl found it 
would be necessary to go out for coal. She put 
on a heavy sweater and cap, which she pulled down 
over her ears. Then she took the coal scuttle and 
shovel and opened the kitchen door. The wind 

swept in with a shrill whistle, extinguishing the 
light and nearly throwing her off her feet. She 
pushed herself forward against the blast and, pull¬ 
ing the door shut after her with a great effort, she 

started across the little porch. A sudden blast of 
greater ferocity threw her back against the side 
of the house. With a sinking of the heart she 

realized that she would not only be unable to reach 
the front of the porch and the wire which led to 
the coal pile, but that she was in danger of being 
thrown off the porch and carried away in the storm. 

Her fingers gripped the window ledge and she 
held on, dropping the coal scuttle, which slid away 
in the inky blackness. For the space of a few 
seconds the force of the wind broke, and she hurled 
herself along the wall to the door. It seemed as 
if the breath of the blizzard itself threw her inside. 

She heard her mother calling her hysterically. 


260 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


She lit the lamp with numbed, trembling fingers 
and went in again to try to reassure the older 
woman. She was calm, now, with the realization 
that they would have to fight to keep alive in the 
cold. She returned to the kitchen. In the kindling 
box was an ax. She coolly removed the cover from 
the table and overturned it on the floor. They must 
have heat. 

She began chopping up the table, not knowing 
that her mother had fainted. 

Morning showed Brant, snow-ridden, feeling less 
of the blizzard’s strength. Silent Scott and Andy 
Sawtelle were at the windows at dawn. Their 
faces were pale, for all night they had been kept 
awake by thoughts of the women alone in the shack 
on the eastern prairie. 

“Looks like it was lettin’ up a bit,” said Silent. 
“I’ve known a blizzard to do that—to slack up 
for three or four hours. If it would do that, we 
could make it.” 

Andy nodded. His eyes were haggard. 

“Silent,” he said, “I’ll go over and have the team 
hitched up, and if it looks later as if we could 
start out and make a run for it, we’ll do it—or—or 
I’m willing to go alone.” 

Silent swung on him, looking at him keenly. 
“All right—go hook ’em up,” he said. 

He followed Andy down to the lobby, where he 
was stopped by a man who had just come in. 

“Hello, sheriff,” he greeted in surprise. 


INTO THE STORM 261 

The sheriff nooded to him coolly. “Heard the 
latest?” he asked with a touch of sarcasm. 

Silent’s brows lifted. “That the way you feel 
this morning, sheriff?” 

“It’s funny—mighty funny, Silent—that you hap¬ 
pen along in Brant every time within a few hours 
after the Choteau stage is held up. Last spring 
you was along here a few hours afterward, and 
you was seen west of here a short time before. 
This time you drift in again just after the stage 
is held up at the start of the blizzard.” 

Silent Scott’s eyes narrowed. “You making an 
accusation, sheriff?” 

“I’m stating facts,” snapped out Sheriff Moran. 
“You’re suspected of this job and the other, Silent. 
I left Choteau by train to the Falls and came up 
this morning on a freight to catch you here.” 

“So?” said Scott coldly. 

“Exactly. They want to talk to you over at the 
county seat.” 

“All right. Tell them I’ll be over within seventy- 
two hours.” 

The sheriff laughed harshly. “It took you a lot 
longer than that to show up when you knew we 
was after you in the Lummox affair,” he said 
grimly. 

“I came as soon as I heard about it,” replied 
Silent sharply. 

“Well, that won’t be soon enough in this case,” 
Moran returned. 


262 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


“You haven’t anything on me in these stage 
holdups,” replied Scott. “You haven’t got enough 
evidence of any kind to take me to Choteau, an’ 
you know it.” 

“But I can still take you on that Lummox shoot¬ 
ing,” snapped out the sheriff. “And I’m going 
to do it.” 

“Not in this blizzard,” said Scott dryly. 

“Oh, yes. By the way of the Falls on this 
morning’s train.” 

They eyed each other narrowly. Then, without 
warning. Silent Scott’s right hand and forearm 
moved with lightning swiftness and the sheriff, 
startled by the suddenness of the movement, was 
looking into the black bore of Scott’s gun. 

“I got business to tend to before I go to the 
county seat,” said Silent. “I warn you, Sheriff 
Moran, I won’t be stopped!” 

He backed away while the official stood glaringly 
helpless. Another moment and he was through the 
dining-room door, running swiftly for the kitchen 
and the rear door. He dashed into the barn as 
Andy was finishing harnessing the team. 

“Here, you,” he called to the barn man, covering 
him with his gun. “Throw two heavy coats into 
that wagon seat!” 

He followed the man to the little office and saw 
him get two fur coats hanging there and throw 
them into the wagon seat. 


INTO THE STORM 


263 


Andy, realizing instantly that there was need for 
extreme haste, was already climbing in. Silent 
Scott jumped into the seat beside him. 

“Make for the lane!” he ordered. 

In another minute they were plunging eastward. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


THE BATTLE 



NDY urged the horses to the fastest pace they 


could make along the snow-filled road which 
ran the length of the lane. They donned the heavy 
coats as a protection against the icy wind which 
hurled the snow in their faces. Silent kept a look¬ 
out behind, but occasionally shouted to Andy that 
they were not followed. He did not attempt to 
explain at that time what had caused the sudden 
departure; and Andy had no opportunity to ask 
questions, for the horses required all his attention. 

The town was soon invisible in the white veil 
behind. The horses kept well in the road, with 
the fence on either side of the lane to guide them. 
Both Silent and Andy stared unceasingly ahead, 
for they knew the great test would come when they 
left the lane and struck out across the miles of 
open prairie. 

There was certainly a lull in the ferocity of 
the storm. The wind was sweeping down from 
the north with less force, permitting a view for 
some distance in every direction. At times they 
caught sight of the buttes far ahead by means 
of which they could keep in a straight line for 
the Bronson homesteads. If the storm held off as 


THE BATTLE 


265 


well as it was doing, they would have no trouble 
making their objective. There was a chance, too, 
that the horses could be depended upon to keep 
to the road home, or, at least, to keep in the general 
direction. 

In less than an hour, driving at a furious pace, 
they left the lane and were on the prairie road. 
Andy began saving the strength of the horses for 
a dash, in case the storm should close down upon 
them again at its worst. At first it was an easy 
matter to follow the road by its “feel,” hut this 
became increasingly difficult as they began to en¬ 
counter drifts. They saw no more of the buttes, 
but now and then glimpsed the gaunt forms of 
the cottonwoods along the river to the south. 

The thoughts of both men were on the women 
alone at the Bronson place. They knew the ordeal 
of facing a first hard blizzard alone, even though 
one might be secure in a shelter, they knew the 
sense of isolation; but what worried them was the 
fact that the women would have to go outside 
the house for coal with which to keep the stoves 
going. They could not know, however, to what 
measures the girl had had to resort during the 
night to keep heat in the little house. 

Andy and Silent looked at each other from time 
to time with troubled eyes. The lives of Annalee 
and her mother might depend upon their reaching 
the homesteads in time. Meanwhile, the menace of 
the blizzard was upon them, threatening them not 


266 THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 

only with the frustration of their plans, but with 
death itself. 

Only once did Silent Scott speak to Andy of 
anything save their mission. 

“Did you see Myrle Capron in the old town?” 
he called. 

Andy nodded vigorously. 

“Gambling?” 

“For all he was worth!” Andy shouted in reply. 

Silent asked no more, but looked moodily ahead, 
his face grim. 

They had lost the road and were driving on the 
open prairie, which was one vast field of white, 
with the snow blowing across it like heavy mist. 
The wind began to gather strength. It was grow¬ 
ing colder, too. Andy knew the signs and urged 
the horses on. The going was hard in spots where 
the drifts were deep, but on those stretches where 
the plain was swept nearly clean of snow, as was 
the case on the crest of the ridges, they made ex- 
excellent time. They climbed the long ridge west 
of the slope leading down to the homesteads and 
for a fleeting moment caught a glimpse of the little 
group of buildings ahead. With a shout of exulta¬ 
tion Andy gave the horses their heads, and they 
lunged forward as the storm closed in upon them 
with a howl. 

“Keep the wind to the left l” Silent shouted 
against the blast, while Andy signaled that he had 
heard. 


THE BATTLE 


267 


But the attempt was in vain. The blizzard 
seemed to swirl in on them from all directions. 
It was impossible to see more than a few feet 
beyond the horses’ heads. But the horses kept on, 
pulling the wagon through drifts and across nearly 
bare patches of ground where it bounced on the 
surface rock, while the men fought to keep their 
sense of direction. They had to fight, too, for 
breath in the face of the icy, snow-laden wind. 
With barely two miles to go they were suddenly 
lost, swallowed in the storm, dependent upon the 
horses to keep to the course. 

Silent Scott looked at Andy’s face, pinched and 
blue with cold, the eyes red and deep-sunk. The 
poet’s lips were moving, and Silent knew the man 
was mumbling his verses. The lines were loose 
in his hands, and Silent reached for them. Andy 
fought to retain them and attempted to strike the 
other. Then Scott realized that he might have to 
fight a man gone temporarily insane; for the strain 
was telling on the other in a way which has often 
been the case under similar trying circumstances. 

Scott felt a coiled rope under his feet. He had 
known the rope was there for some time. It gave 
him confidence, the feel of that coiled lariat, for it 
had been a tool of his trade on the range. If 

matters came to a certain point- He braced 

himself for the possibility. 

Andy Sawtelle was screaming wildly and pointing 
off to the left. Silent shook his head. He had 


268 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


gained the lines and was keeping them tight. Some¬ 
thing told him the horses sensed their direction, 
although as to this he could not he sure. Then 
Andy made a lunge and grasped the lines with 
unnatural strength. Silent, hampered by the big 
coat he wore, tried to fight him off, but did not 
succeed. Realizing the horses were turning as 
Andy pulled, Silent raised a fist and drove it full 
on Andy’s jaw. The poet dropped the lines and 
fell back. Scott quickly regained control of the 
horses and turned them back to what he thought 
had been their course. Rut he couldn’t be sure. 

Andy was huddled in the seat, and Scott had to 
keep him from falling forward over the dash or 
from the side. Then gradually Andy came to his 
senses, stared at Scott, and turned his face from 
the stinging bite of the wind while they literally 
bored their way into the white, seething maelstrom 
of the storm. It seemed unending. 

“A fence!” Scott yelled in his ear. “Keep watch 
for a sign of a fence!” 

There was no answer from Andy, though Scott 
believed that the man had heard. There was a 
good chance for them if they come upon one 
of the fences on the homesteads. 

As they continued on in the storm, battling with 
wind and snow and cold, grave doubts began to 
present themselves in Silent’s mind. He felt that 
they had gone far enough to have reached the 
houses of the Bronsons, and yet they had seen no 


THE BATTLE 


269 


sign of them or of the two fences, one about the 
field of grain and the other about the houses and 
barn. More than that, the wind seemed to be 
hurling itself into their faces with unusual severity. 
Had they swerved north? 

Scott realized that if they were going north 
they were going in a direction away from the 
homesteads, away from the river with its protection 
of trees and underbrush, directly into a great, open 
region which was as yet unsettled and where they 
could wander until horses and men gave in to 
the storm. He was worried about Andy, also, for 
the poet sat huddled in the seat, apparently lifeless. 
In that condition he might freeze to death. 

A little later Scott became aware of a new angle 
to the situation. For some little time he could 
not determine what had happened to provide this 
new element of uncertainty. It was impossible 
to keep the eyes open any length of time against 
the wind and the stinging snow. Thus it was 
some time before he sensed that they were going 
up hill! 

To be traveling toward the homesteads they 
should have been going down a very gentle grade. 
With the knowledge that they were climbing, he 
realized that one of two things had occurred: 
Either they had turned around and were progress¬ 
ing up the ridge west of the slope, or they were 
going due north up the higher and steeper ridge 
in that direction. He decided the ridge was too 


270 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


steep for the one to the west and, watching the 
track left by his wheels, turned around and headed 
in the opposite direction from that in which they 
had been going. 

The wind now appeared more at their backs. He 
shook Andy, but got no response. He turned the 
poet around so that he could look into his face, 
and he saw that his eyes were closed. He slapped 
Andy in the face several times until he opened 
his eyes. Then ensued a struggle to keep the poet 
awake so that he would not freeze to death and 
to keep the horses in a given direction southward. 
Pounding Andy with one hand, while he kept a 
tight rein on the horses with the other, Scott held 
the team to a southward course as well as he 
could. 

Then, suddenly, the horses stopped. Silent felt 
a wild thrill of hope. He looked ahead, but could 
see nothing. He jumped out of the wagon and 
staggered around to the head of the team. There 
he shouted with joy, for he found the horses had 
stopped against a wire fence. Through the fence 
he could see a few shoots of green through the 
blinding snow and knew they had arrived at the 
field west of the house. 

He climbed back into the seat and shook Andy 
until the poet was able to hold out his hands 
and arms. 

“We’ve reached the fence—the fence of the field!” 


THE BATTLE 271 

he shouted in his ear as Andy turned a dull eye 
upon him. 

He turned the horses to the left and proceeded 
slowly along the fence. Scott, himself, was feeling 
the effect of the cold. While his body was well 
protected by the big coat, his hands and feet were 
in danger of freezing. He heat his hands on the 
coat and stamped his feet continually; then, look¬ 
ing for the fence to the right, he saw no sign 
of it. 

But the horses were running fast, and in a short 
time Scott felt a lump in his throat as they stopped 
again. Dimly he could make out the wire strands 
of a fence ahead. Then Andy tumbled from the 
wagon and staggered out into the storm. Scott 
could see his form also, but faintly. Andy, crazed 
by the blizzard, was blindly giving himself up to 
it. Scott dropped the lines and grabbed the rope 
in the bottom of the wagon. In a few moments its 
loop was singing over Andy’s head, and then it shot 
out into the swirl of snow. It was carried aside 
by the wind, and while Andy swayed, Scott pre¬ 
pared for another throw. 

There was no time to tie the horses and run 
after Andy; and if he left the horses to their fate 
it was likely that both he and the poet would be 
lost in the storm. So, for the second time, Scott 
threw his loop, allowing for wind as best he could; 
and this time the loop settled over Andy’s shoul- 


272 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


ders and Scott drew him back to the wagon, where 
he collapsed and fell down into the snow. 

Scott lifted him into the wagon and drove around 
the fence. They turned a corner, and he saw a 
shadow to the right. The horses stopped of their 
own accord before the gate. Scott climbed down 
to open it. His feet and legs and hands were 
numbed, but he succeeded in getting it open. Climb¬ 
ing back into the seat, he let the horses find their 
own way to the barn. He opened the door and 
let them in out of the storm. 

Then he lifted up the still form of Andy, found 
the wire leading to the house, gripped it with one 
hand while with the other he dragged the poet, 
and stumbled to Annalee’s house. Up the steps to 
the porch, across the porch, he fumbled at the 
door. Then it was opened from the inside and 
the girl, muffled in her sweater, let them in with a 
cry of fear and relief. 

At a glance Silent Scott saw what had happened. 
Practically all the furniture in the kitchen was 
gone, and the floor was littered with chips and bits 
of wood; but there was a good fire in the stove. 

The girl smiled at him. “The storm wasn’t so 
bad this morning, and I got in some coal,” she said 
faintly. 

Silent went to work on Andy, rubbing his face 
and hands with snow, taking off his shoes and 
treating his feet in the same manner. Finally 
the poet opened his eyes with a faint smile. Then 


THE BATTLE 


273 


Scott built up the fires and put the coffee pot on 
the kitchen stove. His own circulation restored, 
he went out and attended to the horses and brought 
in coal and water and the provisions from the 
wagon. 

Thanksgiving Day dawned clear and cold, with 
the girl getting breakfast and Scott sleeping the 
sleep of utter exhaustion on a pile of blankets on 
the kitchen floor. 


CHAPTER XXIX 


A SHIFT OF SCENE 

T HERE was no Thanksgiving dinner at the Bron¬ 
sons’ that day, at least not such a dinner as had 
heen planned. Mrs. Bronson lay ill in bed, and 
Andy stayed near the stove, imbibing hot drinks, 
for he had caught a deep cold. The experience in 
the blizzard had affected him mentally as well as 
physically. He had no recollection of his attempts 
to obtain the lines when Scott was driving, nor did 
he remember the blow, for which Scott felt thankful. 

Silent helped the girl about the house, brought 
furniture from Mrs. Bronson’s house, and attended 
to the chores. The wind had died, and it became 
steadily colder. Late that day Annalee decided to 
take her mother to town, as soon as it would be 
possible to move her, so that she would be near 
a doctor. Indeed, the idea of remaining on the 
homesteads for the balance of the winter was prac¬ 
tically abandoned at her mother’s oft-repeated sug¬ 
gestion. 

That afternoon Silent hitched up the team, and 
to the surprise of every one, announced that he 
was going to pay a visit to the Capron ranch. He 
shook his head when he saw the concern in 
Annalee’s eyes. 


A SHIFT OF SCENE 275 

“Our old enemy is not at the ranch,” he told 
her; leastways, not unless he rode out this morn¬ 
ing. He was in town when we left, an’ I don’t 
think he could make it in the blizzard, an’ if I 
know anything about Gruger’s habits, he’ll be in 
town most of the time now till spring.” 

“It—it isn’t anything concerning us, is it Silent?” 
the girl asked anxiously. 

“No. I’m going over there on a little private 
business of my own. An’ I don’t reckon there’ll 
be any trouble this time, of any kind whatsoever.” 

The girl was relieved, but still worried. She 
watched the white expanse to the southward until 
she saw Silent driving back. 

He appeared cheerful to a marked degree when 
he came into the house, and all of them were in a 
lighter frame of mind at supper. 

Silent built a fire in Andy’s house, where he and 
Andy were to live, and where the poet insisted on 
going, although Annalee offered him the use of her 
mother’s house for himself and Silent. 

It seemed to be generally assumed by all of them 
that Silent would remain until they went into town. 
Annalee had taken his arrival for granted, as it 
were. She realized that she had expected him to 
come back—that she had wanted him to come back. 
That he should arrive in a time of suffering and 
trouble seemed natural. She did not ask him 
where he had been, what he had been doing, or 


276 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


why he visited the Capron ranch. Her silence thus 
bespoke her confidence. 

Andy, however, was worried. Silent told him 
of the encounter with the sheriff in Brant; also of 
his determination not to be taken back to Brant or 
anywhere else until he had seen the Bronsons safe 
in town. This would mean trouble if the sheriff 
and his men should show up. However, the ex¬ 
treme cold and the lack of a good road to the 
homesteads evidently kept the sheriff away. He 
did not put in an appearance that day, nor the 
next, when Annalee prepared the belated Thanks¬ 
giving dinner. 

Mrs. Bronson looked out on the bleak landscape 
and shuddered. In every direction the white plain 
reached, cold and glistening under a sun, the rays 
of which could not offset the intense cold in the 
few hours in which it swung across the southern 
horizon. The temperature dropped to forty degrees 
below zero the day after Thanksgiving. 

In the afternoon they were thunderstruck to see 
a wagon coming from the east. It proved to be 
a homesteader from the country near the buttes, 
who had been unable to find the road which wound 
northward, and had struck straight westward in 
search of a town or habitation. 

“We have no coal and are freezing to death,” 
the man explained. 

Annalee gave him a good dinner while Silent 
Scott and Andy filled his wagon box with coal. 


A SHIFT OF SCENE 


277 


The man got out a worn purse and gingerly drew 
from it a number of small hills, but Annalee shook 
her head. It was all too apparent that the money 
was the last the man had. She remembered Andy’s 
words about the many who were striving to build 
themselves a home on insufficient capital. Here 
was an example brought home to her. 

The man insisted upon paying, but she only 
laughed. 

“No, we are going into town for the worst of 
the winter,” sh© explained; “and if we leave the 
coal out there it will be doing no one any good 
and will probably be gone by the time we come 
back, anyway. You must take it. You can pay 
us back in grain or—or something next summer.” 

Gratitude shone in the man’s haggard, worried 
eyes as he put away the purse. 

Andy watched him go and softly droned: 

“When the spider leaves 
The web he’s spun, 

Jack Frost’ll see 

That his work is done.” 

Silent scowled. “Andy, you’re gettin’ back to 
yourself, I guess.” 

“The winter never agreed with me—except in 
town,” sighed Andy. 

“Well, you don’t show that you cared much about 
being in town the last time you was there, replied 


278 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


Silent. “You wouldn’t even take a drink when I 
know you wanted one.” 

Andy’s face flushed as Annalee looked at him 
quickly. 

“Is that true, Andy?” she asked. 

“All except that part about my wanting one,” 
admitted Andy. “Silent gets some queer ideas in 
his head.” 

He walked away toward his quarters, but An¬ 
nalee smiled after him gratefully. “It’s because 
he thought I wouldn’t like it,” she said to Silent. 
“Andy is loyal.” 

“He’s all of that,” said Silent. “He’d have tried 
to make it out here alone if I’d let him. That 
fellow would just naturally die in a blizzard for 
you folks.” 

That night Silent and Annalee sat in the warm 
kitchen. Mrs. Bronson was sleeping, her condi¬ 
tion having improved during the day. Annalee was 
finishing some fancy work; Silent stared moodily 
at the stove. Several times he seemed on the point 
of saying something which was on his mind, but 
each time he desisted with a smile at her. 

Andy had told her how he had met Silent in 
town; but he had said nothing about his trip to 
the Falls or about Silent’s meeting with Neeland 
and what followed. She wanted to ask him if he 
had been in town most of the time since she had 
seen him last, but she felt that sooner or later 
he would tell her everything about himself. It 


A SHIFT OF SCENE 


279 


pleased 'her to note that lie did not wear his gun 
around the place. There was nothing about him 
to hint of the sinister reputation which was his. 

Suddenly Silent raised a finger. She listened 
and heard the wind moaning lightly. A look of 
alarm came into her eyes, but he shook his head 
smilingly. He went to the door and motioned her 
outside. 

“It’s from the southwest,” he said. 

“Oh! Andy was telling me. It’s a—a—what is 
it called?” 

“A Chinook,” he said cheerfully. “By morning 
it will be warm again, an’ the snow’ll be starting 
to go. We can drive in to town to-morrow.” 

This proved to be true, for when dawn came 
the wind was blowing warm from the southwest 
and the snow was melting. 

Mrs. Bronson was anxious to go and insisted 
that she could stand the trip. So Annalee packed 
what they wanted to take with them in a trunk 
and two bags while Andy and Silent put things in 
order about the houses and barns. At noon they 
started, Andy driving, with Silent in the seat be¬ 
side him, and Mrs. Bronson and Annalee in the 
rear seat. The luggage was packed behind. 

Halfway to town they saw three mounted men 
approaching. Silent turned to Andy with a smile. 

“Maybe it would be better if you was driving,” 
Andy suggested with a knowing look. “I’m not 
feeling any too well, you know.” 


280 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


Silent nodded, and they exchanged places. 

The three riders proved to he Sheriff Moran and 
two others, plainly ill at ease, whom he had depu¬ 
tized for the occasion. 

“Good afternoon, sheriff,” called Silent cheer¬ 
fully as he pulled up the team. 

Sheriff Moran wore a deep scowl on his face 
and kept a hand inside his coat on his gun. He 
scanned the party quickly, noting the look of sur¬ 
prise on the girl’s face, the mother’s white features, 
and Andy’s huddled figure. 

“Going in to town?” he inquired gruffly. 

“Just where we are goin’!” sang out Silent. He 
frowned, with a backward motion of his head, 
toward the women in the rear seat. “Taking the 
folks in. Two of ’em are a little under the 
weather.” 

“We’ll drift along behind,” the sheriff announced 
with a keen look at the girl. “It’s got so now I 
know pretty well where to find you when the 
trail’s at all fresh. You wouldn’t have got away 
with it, if it hadn’t been for the blizzard. I ex¬ 
pected to find your body out here on the prairie 
somewheres.” 

“Sheriff,” said Scott, his eyes gleaming danger¬ 
ously, “I reckon you know how men can conduct 
business together. That’s the way you an’ I’ll tend 
to our affairs. You can trail along behind if you 
want, but keep the conversation till we get to town.” 

He started the team, and they continued on their 


281 


A SHIFT OF SCENE 

way, with the sheriff and his two men following. 
Silent kept looking to southward, and when the 
others glanced in that direction they saw a buggy 
journeying toward town. Silent kept the horses 
down to a walk and seemed much interested in 
the buggy. After a time it appeared to the others 
in the wagon that Silent was deliberately holding 
back so that they should not reach Brant ahead 
of the conveyance to the southward. When he 
pushed on at a smart pace behind the buggy after 
it had entered the lane, they were sure of this. 

Annalee was worried at this new turn of affairs. 
Why did the sheriff want Silent Scott again? Was 
the Lummox case to be revived? It seemed the 
only plausible explanation, and she accepted it. 
She remembered, though, that after everything was 
taken into consideration, she knew very little of 
Silent Scott. She felt a thrill as she realized that 
she didn’t care what his past had been; she hardly 
cared what he might be now. The ideals and con¬ 
ventions which had always been a part of her ex¬ 
istence seemed very far away from this snow- 
ridden, wind-swept land of desolation which was 
thawing in the warm Chinook wind. She believed 
Silent to be a man. Instinctively she reached for¬ 
ward and patted him on the shoulder. Then she 
shrank back and snuggled into her furs, avoiding 
his eyes as he turned round. Her eyelids drooped. 

Scott drove directly to the hotel, where he super¬ 
intended the unloading of the baggage. Annalee 


282 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


saw Capron in the lobby as she entered, and was 
surprised when he nodded to them pleasantly. But 
the sheriff also had followed at their heels. An¬ 
other thing which attracted her attention when 
Silent took off his coat, was the absence of his 
gun, although the gun belt and holster were about 
his waist and thigh. 

She saw him confront the sheriff; saw him 
motion to the official to go with him into the bar, 
away from the rest of the company. 

“No!” snapped out the sheriff. “You’re coming 
with me, Scott, right from this spot. You’re 
charged with the robbery of the Ghoteau stage 
just before the blizzard!” 

“A definite charge, sheriff?” drawled Silent as 
the girl’s heart pounded in her throat. 

“A definite, specific dharge,” said the sheriff 
loudly. “Are you coming along without making 
a fuss, or will I have to put these on you?” 

He had drawn his gun with one hand and had 
taken a pair of handcuffs from a side pocket of 
his coat with the other. 

Silent’s face went white at the sight of the steel, 
and the girl cried out aloud. But before another 
word could be said or another move made, Capron 
stepped between them. 

“I take it you’ve made a mistake, sheriff,” he 
said sharply. 

“No, I haven’t,” declared the official. “He was 
seen in the vicinity at the time of the holdup last 


A SHIFT OF SCENE 


283 


spring, an’ he was in town right after the stage 
was stopped this time. What’s more, he was gam¬ 
bling. Some of the bills taken the last time was 
marked; they’ve been marked every trip since last 
spring. And those bills got onto the gambling tables 
in Brant, Capron!” 

“That may all he,” said Capron coolly; “but for 
this man to have stopped the stage he would have 
to he on the ground, sheriff. He’d have to be there , 
wouldn’t he?” 

“He was there, all right,” said the sheriff grimly. 
“He’ll have a chance to prove he was somewhere 
else—if he can.” 

“It isn’t necessary for him to go to the county 
seat with you to prove that,” said Capron. “He 
can prove it right here and have an end of this 
business.” 

Silent had stepped back and was calmly rolling 
a cigarette. He seemed to he the least of all present 
interested in the proceedings. 

The girl watched him for signs of guilt, but saw 
none. 

“Yes, he can prove it!” sneered the sheriff sar¬ 
castically. 

Capron’s face grew dark. “You’re going to he 
square in this, Moran,” he harked out. “I’m going 
to tell you something, and then you’re going to 
think over whether my word is good or not. I 
know Scott wasn’t west of here at the time of the 
holdup.” 


284 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


“You—know?” said the sheriff in amazement. 
“How do you know?” 

“Recause he was at my ranch!” thundered Ca- 
pron. 

The sheriff stared at him in stupefaction. “I 
thought—you two-” 

“What you think hasn’t got a thing to do with 
it, Moran,” said Capron sternly. “I’m stating the 
facts.” 

The sheriff considered this, smiled wryly, and 
held up a hand in a gesture of resignation. Only 
Annalee saw the look that flashed between the 
rancher and Silent Scott. 



CHAPTER XXX 


THE SHOW-DOWN 

A NNALEE’S feeling of relief at hearing that Si- 
lent Scott was not at the scene of this second 
holdup of the stage was only temporary. Although 
she did not intimate to her mother that she was 
worried, she feared that their entry into town might 
prove the signal for trouble—trouble which had 
been brewing ever since Silent Scott had first come 
to their aid. 

She reflected that Silent had not been frank with 
her during his last visit. He had gone to the 
Capron ranch, had made no explanations, and now 
it had developed that he had been there before. 
Why? Neither had he told her that there had 
been a second holdup; that he was suspected of 
it. The tears came into her eyes as she realized 
that he might be concealing much from her. 

But it wasn’t these things so much as it was 
the undercurrent of mystery—a sinister foreboding 
—that seemed to be in the very air. Silent’s look, 
the glance which had flashed between him and Ca¬ 
pron, Andy’s peculiar attitude of knowing more 
than he wished to tell—these coincidences gave her 
pause. And now she realized for the first time 
that it was for Silent Scott’s own sake that she 


286 THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 

wished trouble avoided, as much as for any other 
reason. 

She had a vague, intangible feeling that cir¬ 
cumstances over which she had no control, and yet 
in whose molding she was concerned, were making 
for disaster and gradually setting the stage for a 
tragedy. It was all part of a code, perhaps, which 
she did not understand. It might be that a feud 
was ripening before her very eyes without her be¬ 
ing aware of it. So much could happen in so short 
a space of time in this peculiar country, this new 
land where customs seemed ages old—old as the 
dim buffalo trails which Silent Scott had pointed 
out to her on that day of the great electrical storm. 

Now the air again was charged with electricity 
—of a different kind. She felt it, and it maddened 
her to realize that she was helpless. 

After she had made her mother comfortable in 
bed, she sent for the doctor. He came; a kindly 
soul, gray-haired, wise in the ways of the West 
and old-fashioned, homely medicines. He made her 
mother comfortable and did more by his words of 
quaint philosophy and reassurance and deliberate 
movements than he accomplished through the me¬ 
dium of his powders and pills. 

“She needs rest,” he said, shaking his ancient, 
gold-rimmed spectacles at Mrs. Bronson; “she needs 
rest and—company. I must send up my wife. 
Mrs. Brown is just the tonic that she needs. You 
haven’t been in contact with any of our real women 


THE SHOW-DOWN 


287 


out here, except this Mrs. Clarendon you speak of, 
who has gone to California. You must get ac¬ 
quainted. People here are the same as anywhere 
else, except they may not seem quite so cultured 
on the—ah—exterior.” 

“But, Doctor Brown,” the girl protested, “the 
men! They—they seem so secretive; so full of 
underlying purposes Which they do not disclose!” 

Doctor Brown coughed. “The men in this coun¬ 
try, ma’am,” he said impressively, “endeavor to 
keep their troubles from their womenfolks. But I 
must be going. You will he all right, Mrs. Bron¬ 
son. A rest, sleep—I’ll send Mrs. Brown up to 
see you. If you can survive her ministrations and 
gossip, you can survive my medicines!” 

Both Annalee and her mother had to laugh at 
this. Mrs. Bronson felt better, but the girl was 
still fearfully worried. 

After her mother had quieted down and was 
resting easily, Annalee stole out of the room and 
crept down the stairs. There was no one in the 
lobby whom she knew except the clerk. She went 
up to the desk and asked if he had seen Andy 
Sawtelle. 

“Went to the ham to put up the horses, I be¬ 
lieve,” said the clerk with a queer smile that was 
not lost on the girl. 

“How do I get to the barn through the rear?” 
she asked. 

He directed her, and she went through the din- 


288 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


ing room and out of the kitchen door. Rut Andy 
was not in the barn. The horses had been taken 
care of and Andy had left without waiting to see 
that they were attended to after he had given the 
order to the barn man. No, the barn man did not 
know where he had gone. 

Annalee was forced to give it up and went back 
to her mother’s room, her thoughts in a turmoil. 

Meanwhile, Silent Scott, Andy Sawtelle, and Ca- 
pron were in the little office of Neeland’s. The 
locator had not had time to escape when he saw 
them coming. Silent had seen to that. He had 
sent Capron and Andy around to the back door 
while he, himself, had entered by the front. 

Neeland, fairly caught, was white and shaken 
and sullen. 

“Take your time,” Silent counseled him; “an 0 
remember we ain’t goin’ to forget whatever you 
say. You see, Neeland, you won’t sneak out the 
back door this time—you’ll talk.” 

“I know what you want,” cried Neeland defiantly, 
“an’ I’d have talked long ago, but Gruger threatened 
me. I ain’t the first one that’s backed down in 
front of Gruger. I ain’t the only one that’s afraid 
of him!” 

Silent smiled in the face of the locator’s words, 
which virtually constituted an accusation. 

“You located Mrs. Bronson wrong an’ kept quiet 
about it after you knew it?” he asked in a pleasant 
voice. 


THE SHOW-DOWN 


289 


Neeland looked at him suspiciously. That voice 
sounded altogether too pleasant. 

“It wasn’t my fault altogether,” he said lamely. 
“I forgot the township line was there, an’ that 
the girl was in one township an’ her mother in 
the other. In my—er—hurry, I put down the 
number of Miss Bronson’s township the same as 
her mother’s, in the description for filing.” 

“But you took their money, didn’t you?” asked 
Silent. “You took their money, an’ then when you 
realized that you’d made a bad mistake, you failed 
to tell ’em about it? Neeland—” Silent’s voice 
suddenly became hard—“that’s one thing the gov¬ 
ernment won’t stand for; you know that, don’t you? 
Mislocation is fraud, Neeland, an’ the government 
won’t stand for fraud so far as this homesteadin’ 
business is concerned. These people acted in good 
faith. They built their houses, an’ Andy had no 
idea he wasn’t building Miss Bronson’s house on 
the right land. It was up to you to tell her a 
mistake had been made an’ to fix it up.” 

“It can be fixed all right!” 

“It was up to you to fix it long ago!” Silent 
thundered. “Now answer: Did Gruger tell you 
to keep still about it?” 

Neeland, pale as death, nodded his head, his 
jaw wagging. His efforts at verbal answer were 
fruitless. 

Silent Scott turned to Capron. “Neeland’s out 
of it,” he said quietly; “that is, he’s out of it so 


290 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


far’s you an’ me are concerned. If the govern¬ 
ment men get up here before he can catch a train 
out—that’s another thing, besides bein’ his lookout. 
Now, let’s get right down to cases. I took sides 
with these women first, because they were women. 
They didn’t stand to get a square deal at Gruger’s 
hands, nor at your hands, at first. You’ve heard 
what Neeland said; now you call it quits!” 

“I called it quits some time ago when the bankers 
showed me that this land rush was going to boost 
prices of acreage,” said Capron firmly. “As for 
the other—this mislocation business, I mean—I 
didn’t know a thing about it.” 

Silent Scott rose with a smile. “There’s another 
little thing,” he drawled. “I hear you’ve sold part 
of your ranch and are goin’ out of the stock 
business.” 

“What’s that got to do with it?” growlingly in¬ 
quired the rancher. 

“I was thinkin’ maybe you wouldn’t be needin’ 
Gruger’s help any more,” Silent Scott suggested. 

Capron looked at him for a long time. Then he 
smiled broadly. “You have me on the hip, Silent; 
but I understand what you mean. You want 
Gruger out in the open where there isn’t any 
influence a-rearin’ up behind him. You ain’t just 
lookin’ for a man to lose his job.” 

“I want him clean an’ clear away from the 
Bronsons,” said Silent sternly. 


THE SHOW-DOWN 291 

Capron shrugged. “Have it your own way,” 
he said. 

They parted outside Neeland’s office. Silent and 
Andy remained standing in the street for a few 
moments. 

“It was your good work that showed up Neeland,” 
said Silent to Andy. “I’m goin’ to tell Annalee 
before I go.” 

“But, listen, Silent—you and Capron—what-” 

“Nothing,” said Silent, pushing him toward the 
hotel. “I’ll see you in a little while.” 

Andy looked after him, startled. Silent Scott 
was proceeding across the railroad tracks! He was 
flinging Gruger’s threat in his face! The poet 
started to run after him, but something turned him 
back. The entire affair seemed suddenly to have 
passed out of his partial grasp, leaving him help¬ 
less to interfere. 

Silent Scott, however, did not proceed along the 
main street of the old town after he had crossed 
the tracks. Instead, he walked around to the rear 
of the buildings on the north side of the street 
and slipped past them until he was behind the 
Green Front resort. Here he climbed a flight of 
stairs outside the rear of the building leading to 
the two rooms above. 

He entered the little hallway between the rooms 
noiselessly and listened. From the room on his 
left came the soft sound of hushed voices and the 
dull clicking of poker chips. He drew his gun 



292 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


from within his shirt, opened the door suddenly, 
and covered the men at the table. 

His quick glance roved over the faces of the 
players until it rested on that of Myrle Capron. 
He motioned to the youth to come out, while the 
others stared at him in awed amazement. 

“Gash in!” he ordered sharply as Myrle started 
toward him, leaving his checks on the table. 

Myrle turned hack, shoved the stacks to the 
dealer, and received a wad of bills in exchange. 

Then he preceded Scott, who backed out, still 
keeping the players covered. 

In the little hall Scott faced the frowning youth. 

“Do you know where I was when the blizzard 
started?” he asked in a low voice. 

“You was ridin’ in from an all-night game in 
Conrad, from what I heard,” the youth replied. 
“Why—how-” 

“No, I wasn’t!” Silent interrupted sharply. 
“That was when the Choteau stage was bein’ held 
up, an’ I was at your father’s ranch. Your dad 
just told the sheriff that to prove an alibi for me.” 

“Dad—said that!” gasped out Myrle. “Why— 

why should he want to alibi you?” 

“Because your dad has learned a few things,” 
said Silent grimly. 

The boy’s face went white, and his lips trembled. 

“An’ he wants to see you privately,” Silent 
continued. “I’ve come to get you an’ take you 
to him.” He motioned sternly toward the door. 


THE SHOW-DOWN 293 

Myrle stuffed the bills in his coat pocket and 
obeyed. 

A few minutes later, Annalee, looking from the 
hotel window, saw two queer sights. She saw 
Silent Scott and Myrle Capron walking rapidly 
across the railroad tracks from the old town, and 
she saw a man, lugging two heavy suit cases, trudg¬ 
ing across the tracks in the opposite direction. 

It was Neeland hurrying to catch the train. 


CHAPTER XXXI 


THE MEDDLER 

T HE fact that Silent Scott had crossed into the 
old town despite Gruger’s warning did not im¬ 
press the girl particularly since he had returned 
without any evidences of there having been any 
trouble. But she could not understand his pres¬ 
ence with Myrle Capron. It was another puzzling 
incident of a day which she never would forget. 
However, she breathed more easily. She was not 
particularly interested in Neeland’s movements. Not 
being in possession of the facts, she attached no 
significance to the matter of his leaving town. 

It was a glorious afternoon. The sun was shin¬ 
ing brightly, and the snow was almost gone. The 
whole land was laved by the warm Chinook which 
blew steadily from the southwest. It seemed like 
spring, and she opened the windows. It was the 
weather as much as anything else that revived her 
spirits and sent her down to the street for a short 
walk. 

She heard the whistle of the train in the south 
and decided to walk to the depot to witness its 
arrival and departure. As is the case with a small 
town where there is little excitement, the station 
platform was thronged. She saw Neeland standing 


THE MEDDLER 


295 


close at the edge of the platform with his suit 
cases. She thought he looked startled when he 
glimpsed her in the crowd. 

The train pulled in, and its few passengers 
alighted. Neeland swung his suit cases aboard and 
had one foot on the steps when a voice roared 
his name from the rear of the train. 

Annalee, who was watching curiously, saw Gru- 
ger jump from the rear steps and come plunging 
through the crowd toward Neeland. The locator 
scrambled up the steps as the conductor cried, 
“All aboard.” 

The train, late and making up time, already was 
under way when Gruger leaped up the steps after 
Neeland, shouting to him at the top of his voice. 
The girl caught a fleeting glimpse of the locator’s 
pallid features and staring eyes, of Gruger’s look 
of intense rage and his purple lips. Then Gruger’s 
right fist struck out, and Neeland was knocked 
backward into the car. 

Trainmen surged toward Gruger on the coach 
platform, and for a moment he hesitated. Then 
he leaped from the train and stood on the edge 
of the platform, shaking a fist after it. He swung 
about and pushed his way through the crowd. 

Annalee, unable to understand the purport of it 
all, walked rapidly back to the hotel. Gruger had 
not been in town, then, when Silent Scott had 
crossed the track into the old town. But now he 
was back, and his presence constituted a menace 


296 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


not only to her peace of mind but to the peace of 
the community. It had been plain to see that he 
was in a terrible rage about something. It was 
all more of the mystery which had been prevalent 
that day. She went back to the room in the 
hotel, determined to have a talk with Silent Scott 
or Andy Sawtelle at the first opportunity, when 
she would demand to be told everything. 

Andy Sawtelle was standing at the bar of the 
hotel, talking with the patrons of the place about 
the drive through the blizzard. He could do this 
with unstinted praise of Silent Scott, for Silent was 
not there. 

“And all this time,” he was saying, “there was 
a bottle under the seat that Pat had put there a 
long time ago. That’s one reason why I’m not 
taking any more drinks, hoys; I didn’t take one 
then, and I’m not going to take one now.” 

The attention of his audience was suddenly at¬ 
tracted to the door leading into the hotel lobby. 
Andy looked in the mirror behind the bar and saw 
Gruger entering. There was a silence in the place 
as the foreman advanced to the bar and ordered 
refreshment. He took absolutely no notice of Andy, 
yet Andy knew Gruger was aware of his presence. 

Gruger downed his drink. Andy thought the 
man’s fingers shook a bit. His lips, thick and 
purple, were trembling, too, and his face was dark. 


THE MEDDLER 


297 


He seemed struggling to regain his composure. 
Suddenly he walked down the bar, thrust one of 
two men aside, and confronted Andy. 

“I was down to the Falls,” he said with a black 
scowl. 

A weight seemed to fall from Andy’s shoulders. 
He felt light—almost gay. He threw his head back 
and looked at Gruger quizzically. 

“I expect it’s your privilege to travel,” he said, 
almost in a tone of insolence. 

Gruger’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve done some 
traveling yourself lately, eh?” he said harshly. 

“That was also my privilege,” replied Andy. “I 
have been known to flit hither and thither, from 
pillar to post; but this time, as you probably learned, 
I went straight to the post.” 

“You meddler!” cried Gruger with an oath. 
“You knew I was goin’ to file myself on the quarter 
where that Bronson girl was located by mistake. 
Now, Sawtelle, what was the big idea?” 

Andy frowned, but he was cool. The others in 
the place were watching breathlessly. Already 
something of Neeland’s mistake, his departure, and 
the part Gruger had played in the affair had been 
rumored around. Impending trouble hung in the 
air like static electricity. 

But this apparently did not affect Andy, whose 
eyes shone brilliantly. The poet appeared proud, 
defiant, coolly confident. 


298 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


“You want to know what the big idea was, 
Gruger?” he asked in a quiet voice. 

“You heard me!” snapped out Gruger. 

“All right, Gruger, listen to me!” said Andy in 
a clear, vibrant voice. “I got wind of what was 
the matter out at the homesteads from Neeland, 
although he was too scared of you to tell me all 
about it. I went to the land office in the Falls 
and learned that Annalee Rronson was mislocated. 
Then I filed on that quarter section where she 
built her house to protect her interests. You under¬ 
stand, Gruger, I filed on that quarter to protect 
her interests!” 

Andy’s voice rang through the hotel. Upstairs, 
the door of her room open, Annalee Rronson heard 
the statement with a thrill. She ran to the top 
of the stairs to listen. 

“You meddled!” exclaimed Gruger. “That’s what 
you mean, you yellow little rat. You stepped in 
where you didn’t belong an’ meddled!” 

Andy’s laugh floated up to Annalee. “I wasn’t 
going to let you pull a ringer on Miss Rronson, 
Gruger, if that’s what you’re getting at. You 
bluffed Neeland out of telling that girl that a mis¬ 
take had been made. As soon as I got an inkling 
of it, the day I came in for the Thanksgiving 
turkey, I beat it to the Falls and put the kibosh 
on your scheme. It does me a whole lot of good 
to know that I did that, Gruger; I wish I had a 
chance to do something like that every day.” 


THE MEDDLER 


299 


“It won’t do you as much good as you think, 
you sneaking meddler!” roared Gruger. His face 
was nearly purple, and his eyes were darting red. 
“I know what’s been goin’ on out there. Ain’t 
I seen Silent sneakin’ out there every chance he 
got? It must be pretty soft when a man’ll take 
a chance in a blizzard to get—home!” 

Annalee put her hands to her face as she caught 
the sneering import of Gruger’s words. 

Then she heard Andy’s voice, shaking with pas¬ 
sion, but cold and menacing in its metallic tone. 

“Gruger, you're the rat!” 

Gruger, seeing that he had struck home, leered 
into Andy’s white face. “If I am. I’m a pretty 
wise rat, eh, poet? Tell that to the man you’ve 
been hidin’ behind. Tell him no fool would take 
a chance in a blizzard like the one we just had 
unless he had good reason. Get that in, poet— 
good reason!” Gruger’s sneering laugh of scorn 
filled the hotel. 

Andy started back; then his right hand swung up 
and outward with a quick motion, and Gruger’s 
laugh was stopped by a slap on the mouth. 

At first Gruger stood motionless, with a ludicrous 
look on his face, as if he could not bring his 
senses to realize what had happened. In that mo¬ 
ment Andy’s left followed his right and a second 
slap echoed through the place like the crack of 
a whiplash. 

With a roar of rage, his face livid, Gruger made 


300 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


a dash for the poet. Andy sidestepped and caught 
a glancing blow on the shoulder. As Gruger 
whirled about, Andy’s right fist caught him full 
on the jaw. Gruger leaned hack against the bar. 
There was an almost imperceptible movement of 
his right hand and a crashing report from his hip. 

A curl of smoke spiraled upward in the still air 
above the bar. 

Andy raised a hand and pointed at Gruger, smil¬ 
ing painfully. “You—know now—you lied!” he 
said. Then he crumpled to the floor. 

With a quick glance about, Gruger shoved his 
gun into its holster and, without speaking, walked 
out of the door to the street. 

Annalee came running down the stairs, her heart 
in her throat, a great fear shining in her eyes. 
Then men ran forward to pick Andy Sawtelle up 
from the floor and bear him tenderly to a room 
upstairs. 


CHAPTER XXXII 


REVELATION 

F^ROM the bed Andy smiled faintly at Annalee 
* Bronson while they waited for the doctor. There 
was a crowd in the hall, and they could hear mut- 
terings from the men. Annalee went to the door 
and pressed her fingers to her lips, a signal to 
them to be silent. But one of the men spoke to 
her in a low voice. 

“We’ll see that this thing is made right, ma’am.” 
He made a motion under his chin, implying some¬ 
thing about his throat. 

“Oh—no!” said the girl, drawing back. “Not that 
—promise me. Please promise me. There has been 
so much trouble. Let the law take care of—of it. 
Andy would have it that way.” 

She heard Andy calling in a far-away voice and 
hastened back into the room. 

“Tell them to let him alone!” he said hoarsely, 
trying to sit up in bed as she gently pushed him 
back on the covers. 

“Tell them,” he commanded. “Go tell them.” 

Annalee hurriedly conveyed the message. 

“Please respect his wishes,” she pleaded; “and 
send Silent Scott up here as quickly as you can 
find him.” 

She went back to Andy. 


302 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


“Listen,” said the poet in a stronger voice. The 
fact that he had something important to tell her 
showed in his burning eyes and seemed to revive 
him. 

“Listen, Annalee, I’m hard hit, I guess—but I 
don’t care.” For a moment he turned his face 
away. Then he looked back at her eagerly. “I 
want to tell you—when Silent found out Neeland 
had double crossed you and was scared of—of 
Gruger—he cornered him in his office to get the 
truth out of him. Neeland sneaked out the back 
way to old town where Gruger was. Silent wanted 
to go over there—and get him—make him talk. 
He didn’t go because he knew it would mean trouble 
with Gruger, and—he’d—promised you. See? You 
see, Miss Anna? He had to keep his promise.” 

Annalee nodded, with tears in her eyes, and laved 
his temples with cold water. His face was very 
white, but his eyes were burning with the fever of 
his desire to speak. 

“Please don’t try to talk, Andy,” she pleaded with 
him. 

“No, no.” He shook his head impatiently. 
“There’s something to be cleared up, Miss Anna. 
I may be harder hit than we think for. You know 
why Silent went after Myrle Capron across the 
tracks? It was to get Myrle and his father to¬ 
gether. Listen, Miss Anna, it was Myrle who held 
up the stage. That first time last spring Silent 


REVELATION 303 

nearly caught him at it and got shot in the hand 
for his pains.” 

“He—took the blame?” asked the girl wonder- 
ingly. 

Andy nodded eagerly. “And then later he held 
it as a threat over Capron’s head. That’s one 
reason why Capron was so decent lately, Annalee. 
He was afraid of what Silent knew and realized 
that Silent was your—our—friend. He had to be 
decent. Then, this last time, when Myrle went 
wrong and turned the trick again to give himself 
money to gamble with, he made Capron agree to 
lay off us and fire Gruger. There won’t be any 
more trouble from the C-Bar bunch. Miss Anna.” 
His voice was emphatic. 

The girl sat with her hands in her lap, looking 
wonderingly at the glowing eyes of the poet. 

“Are—are they going to arrest Myrle Capron?” 
asked Annalee. 

Andy shook his head. “That’s where Silent’s 
been. He’s been all the rest of the afternoon with 
Myrle and his father, bringing them together. 
Capron thinks everything of that kid. Silent told 
’em to keep quiet and the sheriff never could get 
anything on the boy. He said to let ’em be sus¬ 
picious of him—of Silent. That was doing them 
both a good turn, Annalee. Silent does those things 
and doesn’t say anything about them. He’s that 
kind.” 

Annalee was suddenly in tears again at this 


304 THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 

demonstration of the friendship of one man for 
another. 

Then Doctor Rrown came and set to work upon 
Andy, with the assistance of two other men. 

The girl went out in the little front parlor and 
sat down alone. She knew now how Silent had 
protected them, even when he had been away. She 
knew why Neeland had taken the train out of town 
so suddenly, and why Gruger had attacked him on 
the coach platform. She knew, with a great sense 
of relief and joy, that Silent Scott was not guilty 
of the stage robberies, that he had even protected 
the culprit. She saw peace, ahead, in the prairie 
country to eastward. Then, as she thought of Andy, 
of his courage when facing Gruger, of his aveng¬ 
ing of Gruger’s insult, her eyes filled with tears. 

After a time Doctor Rrown came out and found 
her there. He shook his head gravely. 

“Not—not that, doctor,” she said brokenly. 

The doctor nodded slowly. “Pm afraid he hasn’t 
a chance. He’s hit on the left—near the heart. 
The peculiar part of it is that he seems rather to 
welcome the—the end.” 

Annalee pushed past him into the room where 
Andy Sawtelle lay in the bed, his face white and 
drawn, his eyes closed. She dropped down beside 
the bed and buried her face in the covers. 

The doctor touched her lightly on the shoulder. 
“It won’t do any good, Miss Rronson, and—it won’t 
help him any,” he said gently. 


REVELATION 


305 


She rose, walked to the window for a moment, 
then sat down in a chair. She did not dare call 
her mother in, for she feared the consequences of 
the shock. 

The door opened softly and Silent Scott entered 
the room. 

For some moments he stood, looking down upon 
Andy’s face. Scott’s own features were nearly as 
white as those of the dying man. In his eyes was a 
peculiar light which seemed to glow steel blue. 

Annalee’s hands flew to her breast as she saw 
that he again wore his gun. 

Then Andy opened his eyes, looked up at Silent, 
and smiled. Silent took off his hat, sat down on 
the edge of the bed, and took one of Andy’s hands. 

“I told her—everything,” Andy whispered, trying 
to nod his head. 

Silent pressed the limp hand within his own. 

Andy’s lips moved again. “He—got me—but I 

made him show—he lied,” he mumbled. 

Silent smoothed the white brow. “If—if I’d been 
there, Andy. It was my fault,” he said softly. 
“Andy, you’re all man. Is there—anything?” 

Andy managed to nod his head. “My inside coat 
pocket,” he mumbled. 

Silent rose and went to Where Andy’s clothes 
were lying on a couch. From the inside pocket of 
the coat he took some papers. These he took over 
to the bed. 

“Look at them,” said Andy. 


306 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


Silent opened the first paper. It was Andy’s 
location of the homestead on which Annalee’s house 
had been built through a mistake. 

Scott opened the second paper and saw a number 
of verses bearing the inscription: “To Annalee.” 

He looked at the girl and back at Andy. The 
dying man nodded with a smile, and Silent handed 
the papers to Annalee, who was now standing be¬ 
side him. 

The girl’s eyes were swimming with tears as she 
read a verse: 

Winds of the wide prairie night, 

That begin their songs in the soft twilight, 

Sing only one song to the life of me— 

My joy in my love of Annalee. 

It was not the poetry; it was the sudden realiza¬ 
tion of what she had meant to the writer of the 
verses which caused the girl to fall down by the 
bedside and press her lips to his. The secret of 
Andy’s walks on the starlit prairies was explained. 

He was speaking faintly again, as one hand 
moved slowly up to stroke her hair. “It—wasn’t 
—just a home to me—out there,” she heard. “It 
was—a shrine.” 

He raised her hand and brought it to his lips, 
then suddenly released it with a surprised expres¬ 
sion and a slight cough. The doctor hastily bent 
over him, but Andy smiled. His eyes again sought 
Annalee’s. She kissed his cheeks. The eyes had 
closed. 


REVELATION 


307 


Doctor Brown drew them gently away, Annalee 
unseeing through her tears, Silent Scott looking 
down at the still face with that awed, wondering 
look with which men regard death. 

The doctor walked to the window and threw up 
the shade as far as it would go, letting in the 
crimson rays of the sunset. 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


A SCORE IS SETTLED 

S ILENT drew Annalee out of the room and into 
the little front parlor. The girl clasped tightly 
in her hands the manuscript which Andy Sawtelle 
had worked over during the long evenings on the 
homesteads. Her eyes were wide and dry. The 
tragedy of it all was too great for tears. 

“You must go in with your mother and rest,” 
Silent said in a queer voice of authority. 

She looked up at him quickly. Then she stood 
back from him, startled by the pallor of his face 
and the look in his eyes. 

“Silent,” she said, “you’re not—oh, no—no!” She 
threw her arms about his neck. 

Gently but firmly he pushed her away, while 
she stared at him, transfixed with horror, terror, 
and a feeling of utter hopelessness. 

He looked out of the windows toward the crim¬ 
son skies as he spoke slowly. “Andy Sawtelle 
was my friend—our friend,” he said in a voice as 
soft as a vagrant breeze. “He was our friend, 
Annalee —my friend. And he was unarmed!” 

She knew as she listened to his voice that what¬ 
ever was about to take place would come to pass. 
She was powerless to prevent it. She suddenly 
felt very much alone. 


A SCORE IS SETTLED 


309 


Silent took her hands, rumpling the manuscript 
in his grasp, and for a moment he looked into her 
eyes. Then he turned and walked rapidly out. 

She stood still and heard his footfalls on the 
stairs. She even counted—one, two, three, four; 
one, two, three, four—to herself as he descended. 
Funny that she should do that, funny that she 
should feel so calm in her sense of complete isola¬ 
tion, funny that the sun should he glowing red 
above the western mountains! 

She thrust Andy Sawtelle’s manuscript into the 
bosom of her dress and stepped to the window. 
The snow was gone from the prairies. People 

were moving in the street. Gradually she realized 
that most of them were moving in a given direc¬ 
tion. They were walking slowly, talking casually 
in pairs—moving westward across the railroad 
tracks. Why, they were going over into Old town! 

Then she saw Silent crossing the street. His 

hat was pulled low over his forehead, and he was 

walking slowly—alone. She saw him look quickly 
about now and then, and yet there was a deceiving 

quality in his alertness; he seemed to move so 

leisurely. He, too, turned toward the railroad 

tracks. Then he stopped and, taking papers and 

tobacco from his shirt pocket, rolled a cigarette. 

He struck a match, and a little curl of smoke rose 
above the broad brim of his high-crowned hat. He 
walked on. As he crossed the tracks a fitful gleam 


310 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


of the sunset shone red upon the black butt of the 
gun in the holster strapped to his right thigh. 

Annalee stood at the window, breathless, fasci¬ 
nated, as he passed from view. 

Men who met Silent Scott on that short journey 
from the hotel across the tracks into the old town 
still talk of the look in Silent’s eyes. They nodded 
to him, but none thought of speaking. He pro¬ 
ceeded slowly, his sharp glances darting about 
under the brim of his hat. Once he stopped and 
looked up into the sunset. Then, with a shrug, he 
continued on his way. 

Men never knew the distance between the new 
and old sections of Brant was so long until that 
day. They whispered to each other in hushed, 
guarded voices, and they strolled on until they 
reached a point in the street near the Green Front 
resort. A few—a very few—went in. 

Silent Scott approached the place at a tangent 
from across the street. He paused a moment before 
the entrance, then, with a quick motion, threw 
open the door with his left hand and stepped in¬ 
side. His gaze swept the place in a flash as men 
scrambled away from the bar, overturning card 
tables in their haste, leaving a clear space between 
Gruger, at the bar, and Silent, at the door. 

Silent strode toward Gruger as their eyes locked. 

The big man leaned a bit backward, and his 
face became blue. 


A SCORE IS SETTLED 


311 


“Gruger, I’m on your range!” said Silent, in a 
ringing voice. “I kept off it because of a promise 
I’d made to keep away from you. But you broke 
that promise for me with your insults and your 
gun!” 

He waited for a reply, but there was none. 

Gruger’s lips merely curled in a sneer. 

“Andy Sawtelle was unarmed, Gruger,” came 
Silent’s voice again. “You shot him down like a 

dog. That’s murder! Any man can take a mur¬ 

derer in to the law!” 

Gruger’s lips parted. “You mean he can if he 
can,” he snarled. 

“I’m here to take you, Gruger,” said Silent 
clearly; “an’ to tell you you’re an out-an’-out 
coward with your hide on the fence where any 

man can see it. If you’re not goin’ to use that 

gun, give it to me!” 

Gruger half turned with the rapidity of his 
draw, and, on the instant, the room rang with the 
reports of guns. 

Silent Scott stood straight, smoke curling upward 
from the weapon at his hip. A steel-blue light 
flamed in his eyes as he watched Gruger’s features 
twist into a look of surprise, then gradually grow 
blank, as a veil came over his eyes. 

The foreman’s gun rattled dully on the floor. He 
wet his lips with a dry tongue and raised his left 
hand upward—upward along the outside of his 
coat—upward toward his heart—upward- 


312 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


Suddenly he sank to the floor as Silent whirled 
on his heel and walked slowly out the door. 

Annalee was still at the window. She had not 
been able to move. It seemed as if she felt some¬ 
thing gripping at her heart, something intangible 
that she couldn’t define. Then she saw Silent Scott 
coming back; back across the railroad track, his 
shoulders bent, his face turned down. In his right 
hand he still carried the gun. She wondered at 
that. She wondered that he should carry the gun 
that way, in plain sight. She saw him stop, look 
vaguely about, toss the gun to the ground, and 
walk on. 

It seemed to her that she had ceased breathing. 
She saw him step into the street opposite the hotel. 
There were men crossing the tracks behind him 
now. They were talking excitedly and gesturing. 
She gathered from their actions that they approved 
of whatever it was that had happened. 

Now Silent was crossing the street. He did not 
look up. He passed from her sight below the porch 
roof. In a few moments she heard his step upon 
the stairs. He was coming back to her! He was 
coming back—one, two, three, four; one, two, three, 
four- 

He stood before her in the doorway, and she 
noted that the look in his eyes had changed. With 
a sob in her throat she knew everything. 

“I—I had to do it, Annalee,” he said in a low 



A SCORE IS SETTLED 


313 


voice. “I had to do it. It was in the pictures. 
I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Annalee, and I’ll have to 
leave you now—for good. I’ll go back to the Mus¬ 
selshell, where I’ve been working, an’ try—to for¬ 
get.” 

He came toward her, took her in his arms, and 
kissed her forehead. 

“It was a shrine for me as well as for Andy,” 
he whispered softly. 

He released her and turned toward the door. 
She stood motionless, her face white as death, an 
agony in her eyes, as he passed out. 

Then she tried to speak, but it was only a sob. 
She reached out her hands and sank to the floor. 

Her mother found her there. 


CHAPTER XXXIV 


SPRING 

T HEY buried Andy Sawtelle in Brant, with the 
whole town attending the funeral. As if in 
recognition of his love of the land, the sun shone 
warmly that day, and the Chinook wind blew gently 
from the southwest. 

The shock of the poet’s death, and the killing of 
Gruger, seemed to divert Mrs. Bronson’s mind from 
her own troubles, and she gained rapidly. The 
doctor’s wife proved to be a genial, hospitable, 
sympathetic woman and was soon a good friend of 
the Bronsons. They met other women of the town 
and were quite content in Brant, living in two 
rooms in the hotel. 

Myrle Capron came humbly with his apologies. 
The rancher himself visited them, and the feud 
was at an end. It was whispered that Myrle’s 
father made good the amounts taken in the stage 
robberies, and there the matter was dropped by 
mutual consent of the authorities to give the young 
man a chance to make good. 

The county attorney blamed the gambling tables 
in the old town and closed the lid down tightly on 
all gambling. Myrle, himself, contrite, gave promise 
of better things, and was on terms of perfect un- 


SPRING 


315 


derstanding with his father. He told Annalee how 
he had shot Silent Scott through the hand when 
almost discovered in the act of the first robbery, 
and how Silent had virtually handed him back his 
life. He was sorry Silent was not there to receive 
his thanks. 

Silent Scott was exonerated in so far as the kill¬ 
ing of Gruger was concerned. The whole coun¬ 
tryside was roused over the brutal murder of 
Andy Sawtelle, and at the time Silent crossed the 
tracks into the old town, a sentiment in favor of 
lynching was rapidly gaining headway. 

Capron explained that Gruger had been out to 
“get” Silent, and had caused the charge of killing 
Lummox to be withdrawn, so that Silent could be 
at liberty and he, Gruger, might have a chance at 
him sooner or later. 

The long winter wore on. Blizzards—blinding, 
howling, snow-filled—swept down from the north 
with a ferocity that made Annalee and her mother 
shudder whenever they thought of the families bat¬ 
tling through the winter on their lonely homesteads. 
They experienced degrees of cold so severe that 
they wondered how people could move about in the 
open—thirty, thirty-five, forty, and once, fifty-four 
degrees below zero. 

Annalee often sat alone at the window, looking 
out over the vast plain of white, a yearning look 
in her eyes which gradually changed to hopeless¬ 
ness and resignation. Her mother knew, and was 


316 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


silent. She, too, had come to love the tall, blond 
man with the clear, blue eyes, almost as a son. 

Spring came, almost in a day. The snow left 
the prairies, and river and streams were swollen. 
A new influx of homesteaders began, and hundreds 
arrived to take up residence on their claims. An- 
nalee and her mother journeyed to Great Falls, 
where the error in Mrs. Rronson’s location was 
corrected by the land office officials, after they had 
heard the facts in the case. 

Then came the day when they went back to the 
homesteads. Pat, having returned from his winter 
in the “South”—which meant Great Falls—went 
with them. They found the houses and barn all 
right. There was a fine stand of winter wheat, 
although it could hardly be called a “stand.” 
Nevertheless, it was well up, green and thick. It 
promised an excellent crop, providing the June rains 
did not fail them. 

Annalee and her mother had decided to prove up 
in the fourteen months, if possible, and thus get 
title to their land, so that they could borrow on it 
if their funds became exhausted. 

Homesteaders came into that section and located 
all about them. They received a visit from Capron, 
who was very cordial, and who told them that 
they could have a man from his place any time 
they wanted him. He intended to sell the balance 
of his ranch in the fall and move to California. 

Pat began plowing, with the intention of sowing 


SPRING 


317 


some spring wheat and oats, thus adding to the 
prospective crop. They bought some chickens and 
geese. Then Myrle Capron came, one day, leading 
a fine milch cow, and insisted that they accept it 
as a gift from him, in recognition of the favor 
their friend, Silent Scott, had done for him. His 
speech was so earnest, although embarrassed, that 
Annalee could not refuse; and the cow proved a 
most valuable acquisition. 

The spring was full and overflowing, and they 
planted a garden on the ground watered by it. 
The garden flourished. They planted potatoes, too. 
Altogether the outlook was exceedingly favorable. 

Annalee went about her work listlessly, although 
she did it well. The great, green stretches of 
prairie, the purple mountains and pink buttes, the 
green of the graceful cottonwoods along the river 
did not have the same lure for her; nor did they 
appear as beautiful. 

This, until one evening in May, when she saw 
a lone rider coming from the southeast. She was 
interested in every rider, these days; and there 
were many of them, for homestead shacks were 
springing up all about them, and they had many 
neighbors. 

But, for some reason which she could not de¬ 
fine, this rider, even at that distance, seemed dif¬ 
ferent. He did not sit his horse like a homesteader. 
For a moment the girl felt a wild thrill of hope, 
then she flushed, and the hopeless light came back 


318 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


into her eyes. But she could not take her gaze 
from the approaching horseman. 

Then, suddenly, she turned and ran into the house. 
“Mother!” she exclaimed. “Mother!” 

Mrs. Bronson, getting supper, looked at her 
daughter in astonishment. The girl pointed out 
of the door. 

Then came the pound of hoofs. He was coming 
at a gallop! 

Mrs. Bronson was on the little porch when he 
dismounted and swept his big, broad-brimmed hat 
close to the ground. 

“Silent!” she cried in a tone of glad welcome. 
“Well, you’ve stayed away long enough!” 

“I had to come back, Mrs. Bronson, to see how 
you were gettin’ on,” said Silent Scott. 

“Is that all you came back for?” inquired Mrs. 
Bronson, extending her hand. 

“Mother!” came Annalee’s reproving voice from 
the kitchen. Then the girl, pale, but with a peculiar 
light in her eyes, came out of the door. 

Silent looked up at her gravely as she held out 
her hand. 

“You’re just in time for supper,” said Mrs. Bron¬ 
son. “Put your horse up and come right in. Gall 
Pat, Silent. I declare, it’s good to see you again. 
Come and help me, Anna, dear. Hurry now.” 

At the supper table they told him about the 
winter, and he explained that he had been working 
with a large outfit in the Musselshell country. 


SPRING 


319 


“I couldn’t leave the cattle, or I would have 
taken a run up to Brant to see how you all were, 
I guess,” he said smilingly. 

That evening he and Annalee walked on the 
prairie in the twilight. 

“I reckon I ain’t a man of my word any more,” 
said Silent plaintively. “I said I couldn’t ever 
come back, an’ maybe I shouldn’t have come, after 
—after everything that happened.” 

“I know now that it had to happen, Silent,” said 
the girl softly. 

“You know?” he said quickly. “You under¬ 
stand?” 

“Yes, Silent—I understand.” 

The prairie wind whispered in the waving 
grasses. The first stars were peeping through the 
purple velvet of the deepening twilight. In the air 
was the scent of growing things. 

“You—you forgive me, Annalee?” 

She stopped and looked up into his eyes. “There 
isn’t anything to forgive, Silent, except your stay¬ 
ing away so long.” 

He put his hands on her shoulders. “Annalee,” 
he said softly, “I came back to the shrine because 
I love you.” 

Then she was in his arms, and he was kissing 
her, holding her tightly, stroking her hair, mut¬ 
tering brokenly. 

“Silent,” she whispered from his shoulder, 
“there’s something you haven’t asked me.” 


320 


THE PRAIRIE SHRINE 


“Girlie, mine, will you marry me?” 

“Not that. Silent. You haven’t asked me if I 
love you.” He could barely hear her voice. 

“Do you, Annalee?” he whispered. 

“Forever!” she said with shining eyes, as she 
drew his face down to hers. 

In the east, beyond the painted buttes, across 
leagues of shadowy prairie, the silver disk of the 
moon rose above the rim of the horizon. The 
night wind freshened and sang in the billowing 
grasses. The heavens blossomed into stars. 

THE END. 


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